


Paying Her Dues

by Moonleaf



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Bondage, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Long One-Shot, Porn With Plot, Qunari (Dragon Age) Kink, Rough Sex, Safeword Use, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 21:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20014882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonleaf/pseuds/Moonleaf
Summary: Every time you play a paragon Hawke, you just can't win when it comes to the end of Isabela's story arch. Either you forgive a selfish bitch who really should get some sort of repercussion for her transgressions, or you are a complete bastard who hands her over to the Qunari.So I wrote an AU from when Hawke lets the Arishok have Isabela, and gave her a new story. With delicious Qunaris in it. And sex. And redemption. And maybe even love?Dictionary/names are to be found in the beginning, middle and end for convenience.





	Paying Her Dues

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

I would like to thank my wonderful main Beta [Be_Ve86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Be_Ve86/pseuds/Be_Ve86/works) for doing amazing work as always, and also to [Delaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delaya/pseuds/Delaya/works) and [wishiwaugh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishiwaugh/pseuds/wishiwaugh/works): you are wordsavers and awesome grammar detectives! Pop over and check out their work, will you?

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

**Dictionary/names:**

**The Arishok** : The leader and highest ranking general of the Antaam. The head of state.

**Arvaarad:** "Holds back evil", a warrior rank that holds the leashes of a Mage/Saarebas.

**Bas:** Literally, "thing;" foreign to the Qun; purposeless. Often used as a neutral term to describe non-Qunari people.

**Basalit-an:** A non-Qunari worthy of respect.

**Ben-Hassrath:** "Heart of the many," part of the priesthood who serve as spies, reeducators, and the defenders of Qunari unity. They are the enforcers of the Qun's law.

**Hissrad:** "Keeper of Illusions", spy rank in the Ben-Hassrath.

**Karasaad:** Mid-rank infantry soldier. A melee warrior.

**Karashok:** Infantry private. A melee Qunari warrior.

**Kathaban:** Leader of the Qunari naval forces; the admiral.

**Kossith:** Another name for the Qunari people.

**Meraad:** Tide.

**Parshaara:** "Enough."

**Qun:** The central philosophy of the Qunari peoples.

**Qunari:** People of the Qun. A religious description, not race specific.

**Qunlat:** The Qunari language.

**Saarebas:** "Dangerous thing"- the Qunari word for a Mage, as well as a title.

**Shanedan:** Literally, "I'll hear you." A respectful greeting.

**Sten:** Infantry platoon commander, a vanguard.

**Taamsala:** Amulet.

**Taarbas:** A title/rank of Qunari, clerical in nature; duties include cataloguing inventory.

**Tal-Vashoth:** "True Grey Ones." Former members of the Qunari who have departed or been exiled from their people and home.

**Talan:** Truth.

**Tamassran:** "Those who speak." A priestess who amongst many important tasks are responsible for the mental and sexual well-being of the population.

**Triumvirate:** The governing body of all of Qunari society. They are three individuals that represent a perfect trinity, a whole that the three complete. Arishok the body, Arigena the mind, and Ariqun the soul, are the three pillars of Qunari society.

**Viddathari:** A convert to the Qun.

**Vitaar:** "Poison Armor." A warpaint used by the Qunari that is toxic to other races and has a metal-like quality once applied to the skin.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

It wasn’t the clawed hands digging into her arms that hurt the most, but the look on Hawke’s face. He watched her with distaste, as if he had discovered something vile under his boot. Isabela hadn’t thought he would hand her over like that. Surely their friendship would have given her the right to explain herself if nothing else. As she was lifted off her feet, she realized she would never get to tell him why or how, never get to say goodbye to Merrill or Varric. Fear and anger mingled in her, and she kicked out in desperation - in a hopeless attempt to escape the grasp of the Karashoks holding her. 

They dragged her off, and she twisted in their grip so she could shout at Hawk over her shoulder, cursing him. Promising to return. He didn’t even look at her, but exchanged a few words with the Arishok and then the huge frame of the Qunari blocked the view of her former friends as her captors continued down the hallways of the palace. She spat and taunted, thrashed and screamed herself hoarse, only hurting herself in the process as the grip of the soldiers towering over her were like steel. Soon she was breathing heavily, and, with her anger spent, fear crept in. She bit down on her tongue to keep herself from crying when she heard the laps of waves against the docks. 

Unceremoniously, one of the Karashoks tossed her over his shoulder and carried her across the gangway. As they descended into the bowels of the ship, the twilight of the evening gave way to complete darkness. Isabela heard a door open and was dropped abruptly on the ground. She hardly had time to sit up before she heard the unmistakable sound of a lock and bolt across the heavy wooden door.

Hawke’s expression, Fenris’ cold stare, and Anders’ shocked face flitted across her mind’s eye, as she curled up and tried unsuccessfully to push the memories away. She recalled how she had let her usual habit of making a dramatic entrance ruin her chance of telling the truth. Stupid, stupid, STUPID! The images repeated again and again, as in an endless dance, accompanied by the harsh words she had yelled after her friends when she was dragged away. 

Finally she fell asleep, her exhausted mind no longer capable of keeping her conscious.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

In the utter darkness of the windowless brig, Isabela lay half-awake. A part of her still felt like this was all a dream, but the smell of tar and salt, and the rough feel of wood and straw under her was real enough. The way the ship rocked told her they had left Kirkwall harbour and were already at sea. It was impossible to keep track of time in a room like this, but the sound of seagulls indicated daytime. She rolled over, the sharp pain of various aches in her body making themselves known. It wasn’t just from her futile scuffle with the Qunari soldiers, but also from the time she spent hunting down their damned Tome. And even though she had burned through all her coins, used all her connections and put herself in serious debt to people she normally would shun, she still got back too late. The Arishok managed to lop off the Viscount’s head, scaring the shit out of the nobles and piss off Hawke once and for all. 

And now, she was heading for the unknown. She laughed silently; oh the irony. She looked around the shapeless void of the brig, because every time she closed them she saw Hawke turn to stare at her when she finally arrived with the Tome. Isabela hoped for, even expected, a grin or relief, his usual endearing, sarcastic remarks. But he just stared at her. And when the Arishok demanded she be handed over, he had just told him, “Take her.”

Isabela had fallen for Hawke. A childish infatuation for someone she could never have, that became more than it should have. It wasn’t that he treated her differently, but the way he was with people in general that had made her respect him deeply. He had patience and empathy for people, unlike most folks Isabela had met. As well as herself. In more ways than one, he was her opposite. She could never tell Hawke of course, not after he found happiness with Aveline. The Guard-Captain was everything Isabela wasn’t. Decent. Honourable. Kind. Nurturing. A woman who never needed to use her looks or her sex to get her men to follow her. A graceful beauty with alabaster skin and firekissed hair, and _completely_ unaware of her own attractiveness. How could Isabela compete with that? 

Now Hawke would forever think of Isabela as a shallow, selfish woman. She doubted anybody would disagree with him. Except maybe Merrill. She'd been the only friend Isabela had felt comfortable confiding in, as the elf never judged her. But she had made Merrill swear on never repeating the things she had shared, and the elf would, unfortunately, keep her word. The fact that the very few friends she had would never know the truth burned in her heart, the stinging ache was overwhelming.

Heavy footsteps outside the door disrupted Isabela’s train of thoughts. Keys rattled and the bolt was slid aside. Her eyes were used to the darkness, so she could make out the shadow looming in the gloom of the hold. Without a word, the Sten leaned down, took her by the arm and led her out of the brig. Her legs were slow to move and he pushed her in front of him between the stacks of barrels, crates and chests lining the walkway. When she took too much time climbing the ladder to the deck, he placed a huge hand on her ass and pushed. She almost squealed as he literally lifted her up the rest of the way, his fingers digging into her buttocks and toppling her up and onto the deck.

“Hey! At least buy me a drink before…”

The joke died on her lips as countless Qunari stared at her. She was on all fours, graceless, exposed and feeling smaller than she ever had. Isabela swallowed and rose, trying to regain her posture. Was she to receive her judgement now? Isabela knew little of how the Qun dealt out justice, and a public execution didn’t sound unlikely. The entire deck was filled with soldiers, silently watching her. The Sten came up behind her and forced her to move towards the poop deck where the Arishok stood, waiting. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, plastered a smirk on her face, and sauntered forward. The persona of the arrogant Captain cloaked her like a mantle of safety, but it didn't come as easily to her this time. She ascended the stairs as if they led to a scaffold, feeling her knees ready to give out at any moment. Isabela stopped before the Arishok.

“You stand before the Antaam, thief.” 

He looked down at her with those strange grey eyes. 

“A thief has no purpose. But we will give you one. You will atone for your crime by paying your due to every Qunari on this ship. One by one.” 

Her mind was a tumultuous chaos of panic, so she responded automatically in her usual way, listening to herself in horror:  
  
“Servicing an entire ship full of Qunari? If I had known this was the price I’d get for stealing, I would have returned the damned book sooner!”

The Arishok stepped forward and enclosed her neck in his hand, long fingers circling around her throat. She stared up at him, failing to keep the fear out of her eyes. He leaned in.

“You _want_ us to fuck you? We can. There will be little left of you before half of these men are done.”

He turned her in one easy move and pushed her neck down, bending her over the railing above all the men. She stared down at expressions that ranged from cold hatred to furious anger to impassiveness, and somehow even more worryingly; lust. Isabela found she believed the Arishok. Oh hell, why had she not kept her big mouth shut? She felt the rough touch of the Qunaris armour against her bare thighs and some sounds that made her think he was undressing. A pathetic cry of sheer terror escaped her lips before she could stop it. The Arishok yanked her back up and stared down into her face.

“So you do **not** want us to fuck you then?” 

She couldn't make any sounds pass her lips, so she shook her head.

“Good. Follow this Sten, he will find you something more appropriate to wear, before you start your penance. Each and every Qunari here has lost friends, brothers-in-arms or superiors whilst hunting for you. There are too many grievances for you to redeem yourself, but your life is depending on you doing anything in your power to meet their demands. You may leave.”

The Arishok made a gesture, and the Sten he had indicated stepped forward and passed Isabela. It took her a second to realise she had been dismissed, with her head still attached to her body. She stumbled after the giant, and as she sat her foot on the deck of the ship, all the Qunari dispersed, going to do their chores or return to their stations as if the Arishok never offered to let the entire ship rape her.

Isabela followed the Sten back into the hold, where he took her to the head. She was allowed to relieve herself, and afterwards he took her back to the room she had slept in. Two large buckets of seawater and soap was ready.

“Undress.”

Isabela hesitated, and the Qunari moved towards her. 

“I will. I will! Just… give me a moment.” 

The small room was bare and lit by a single lantern, there was no point in trying to be modest. She started to undo the lacing of her tunic, which took some time. The Sten got impatient and suddenly his knife was slid under the leather thongs and slit them open in one smooth motion. Isabela looked up at him in annoyance.

“Was that really necessary?”

“You took too long. And you won’t be needing that anymore, it is not effective as a garment.”

“How the hell would you know? You don’t have tits and I would like to see you try fighting like me in those pants.” She pointed to his rather tight leather leggings.

“You should not be fighting at all.”

“Why, because I am female? Spare me your condescending Qun-crap.”

His hand connected with her chin as she was about to pull the dress over her hips. The force of the blow sent her tumbling to the floor. She rubbed her jaw, wondering for a moment if he had dislocated it. She got to her feet and settled into a fighting stance without thinking. The Sten looked at her with amusement.

“You will fight me in close quarters _without_ weapons? I had expected you to be somewhat clever for a bas, considering you managed to keep yourself from us for so long.”

He moved in, trapping her in a tight corner.

“Stop behaving like a child. Undress. Including those gawdy trinkets.” He nodded at her necklace. Isabela knew he was right. Fighting here, now, would indeed be stupid. And she was at sea, with no possible escape - except for death, and she didn’t want to die. Survival meant yielding. 

Quickly, Isabela undid the armour on her arms and wrists. Trying not to look as though she minded exposing herself like this, she wrenched the tunic over her head along with her hairscarf, and put them in the cloth bag the Sten held out. She started to unlace her thigh high boots, but, seeing it would take a lot of time, the Qunari handed her his knife. She looked up at him in surprise, but didn’t question his decision to hand her a weapon. He had given her a chance to show she wasn’t stupid, and she decided to prove him right. Attacking him while they were on the ship would only ensure her death.

After cutting loose her boots and dropping the remains in the bag, she undid her large necklace and gave it over reluctantly. The earrings went the same way, he even forced her to remove her piercing. She felt truly naked now. In nothing but her undergarments, she was bared of every piece that had made up the swashbuckling pirate Captain. The Sten seemed unconcerned by her nakedness, and told her to wash. Isabela started out, but soon the Kossith standing over her got impatient again.

“Parshaara, you wash like you have all the time in the world. You don’t. Time will be pressed if you are to make your amends before we reach Par Vollen, and if you want to make a good impression you will make sure that you do.”

He dumped a bucket of cold water over her head and sat down on a bench along the wall. He pulled her in between his massive thighs and grabbed the soap out of her hand. She felt her cheeks burn as he lathered her torso, neck and face. If he noticed that he was touching her breasts or that her nipples hardened under his rough touch, he didn’t let it show. He turned her abruptly around and sat her on his lap. She stared ahead, frozen, as he scrubbed her thighs, and then between them. Ignoring her sharp intake of breath, he just continued down her legs to her feet. A slight shriek passed her lips before she could stop it as he pulled up her leg and washed her feet.

“Are you injured?” he asked. 

“What? No, no. It was... I am ticklish.”

The Sten looked at her feet puzzled. “I do not know this word. What is ‘ticklish’?”

“Well, it isn’t a word used when dealing with war and death and the likes, so I am not surprised. It means, when you get touched and it feels… umm,” she paused, unsure of how to explain it. 

“Is it another one of the human sexual things?”

Isabela laughed then, despite the absurdity of the situation. “No! Well, it can be, I guess, for some. It is hard to explain, it makes you laugh and feels sort of nice but it can also feel really uncomfortable and…” she stopped. Were Qunari even ticklish? She twisted her upper body so she could tickle him on the side. She went from a light touch to a more aggressive poke at his ribs, and he just stared down at her. Then he leaned over and touched her feet again and she almost leapt off his lap squealing, slipped in the soapy suds on the floor and was scooped back up in the Sten’s lap.

“Human bodies are weak,” he concluded, and without further thought, he started washing her hair. His talons scraped her scalp in an almost painful way, and she was relieved when he finished and sat her back on the floor. Isabella had to brace herself when another bucket of water was dumped over her. He handed her a towel and a comb, and she quickly made use of both. The Sten then pulled a white dress over her head. Well. Dress might be an overstatement, it looked like a large pillowcase with holes for her head and arms. He made her hold her hands out to the sides and tied a red sash around her waist, making it look marginally less like a sack. But the material was a soft cotton, and she had worn much worse in her life. Much worse. 

Finally, she was handed a pair of underpants. She stared at the voluminous garment, and the Sten sighed. 

“Here. Look, there are drawstrings around the waist and legs. It will fit even your scrawny frame.”

Isabela had never been called scrawny in her life, and wondered what Qunari women must look like while she put it on and tightened the strings. They became like bloomers, only without all the frills and fripperies the Orlesians favoured. The Sten nodded approvingly. 

“Good. You are ready.”

Unhooking the lantern, he lead the way through the dark ship, passing many sailors and soldiers. They saluted the Sten and watched her pass with those creepy eyes of theirs. Isabela felt a growing apprehension as they moved through the ship. What was her punishment going to be? Her mind made up a string of scenarios, every new one was worse than the last. Her heart raced as the Sten took her to meet the first Qunari she was supposed to make amends to. 

...which turned out to be peeling vegetables. The Sten had lead her to the galley and left her with the ship's cook. He was not happy to see her, and made that clear from the start. The day wore on, and she finished peeling vegetables, scrubbing pots and pans, labelling tubs and packages, as well as tidying the pantry.

It became obvious to Isabela that despite telling her how much he loathed her and her kind, the cook couldn’t stop himself from hanging around her while she worked to tell her all about how terrible humanity was. Kirkwall in particular was a cesspool of degraded, arrogant and immoral people who wallowed in their petty feuds, greed and desires - she should know as she had been one of them. And Isabela had to agreed with him. The more she confirmed and agreed with the cook, the more he wanted to talk. She suspected he had kept this under lid for all the years he had been stranded in Kirkwall, and now it all came bubbling to the surface. They both shuddered by the memory of the true horror that was Ferelden cuisine, and acceded that it was easier to find a virgin than decent spices in Kirkwall. The food mainly consisted of grease with unrecognisable burned bits you didn’t want to ask the origins of. It was meant to put a layer on your ribs, not to tickle your tastebuds.

Isabela told the cook stories that, if anything, put her entire race in an even worse light. And for some reason, that made him warm up to her more. As dinnertime approached, he made her help him with the curry he was making, giving her the very important task of boiling the rice to perfection. She hadn’t been so nervous for a task - even before a battle - as she was staring into the foaming water. When she alerted him to what she thought was the right consistency of the rice, he nodded approvingly before he took the huge pot off the stove. She had passed his test, and finished her first atonement.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

The next week was spent under the open skies. Several of the hands made her scrub the deck, over and over again. The sun shone down on her, burning her skin and making her dizzy. After the sixth day, her hands and knees were sore and scratched, the tiny wounds constantly stung from the saltwater she had to use. Isabela knew she was being tested. Would the former Captain think herself above such base work on a ship? She suspected they were goading her in the hope that she would make a scene and get herself in trouble. She scoffed at that. How did they think she got her own command? Women were not welcomed on ships, she had to work twice as hard as the male crew and teach herself by observing, as the men refused to help. Every skill she had, as well as her reputation as a decent Captain and the loyalty of her crew, was paid for in blood, sweat, and tears. And she had started where all sailors started: scrubbing decks and doing the work no one else wanted to do.

Finally, the Sten stopped her - probably more for the sake of the timber than her well-being. She felt eyes on her back, they were waiting for her to give in. She would not.

“Please. Let me finish. Please?” 

He looked at her for a while, made her drink some water and then let Isabela get back to the work. As the sun travelled across the sky and fell towards the horizon, she continued polishing the deck. Her knees and hands were raw and bleeding. At dusk, she gingerly tried to stand up and her head suddenly swam, spots appearing before her eyes and darkness descending abruptly. When she opened her eyes again, some time must have passed, as she was being carried into the sick bay. The Sten assigned to her laid her down on a bench in the middle of the room, and an almost lanky Qunari she hadn’t seen before leaned over her. The Healer inspected her as if she was still unconscious, opening her mouth like a horse and spoke disapprovingly at her in Qun. She let him rant, prod and poke at her. Isabela's mind was foggy and she could feel the exhaustion in her bones. The Healer made her drink a potion, gave her a balm for her wounds and sent her off with the Sten. He lumbered in front of her to the brig, where he lit the lantern in her empty room and took the jar of balm from her. 

“You had a sunstroke.”

“Yes, obviously. Why was he so annoyed?”

The Sten made her sit down before he maneuvered his own bulk down next to her and opened the lid of the jar. He started applying the balm with an unexpected gentleness.

“You made yourself ill. You have been on a ship before, you know what happens if you stay out in the sun. Now you will have to rest for a day, and he thought it was a waste of his time and supplies.”

“Oh.”

She had thought she had done the right thing. She had felt proud that she managed to finish the deck and not give in to the pain, pushing her herself to the limit. 

“I… I thought…”

The Sten interrupted her. “He was always crabby, and Kirkwall didn’t help. He even tells off the Arishok. Everyone saw you had the chance to stop long before you were finished. That you kept on earned you some respect from the men.”

The Sten got up, but before he left, he turned back to Isabela.

“The Healer want you to come back in the morning, to make your contribution.”

Then he left, and for the first time, the door was neither locked nor bolted. He had left a blanket in there too, and Isabela enjoyed the rough woolen fabric as if it was the finest silk.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

The next morning, the Sten was back with several buckets of water. The Healer had requested she was scrubbed thoroughly before she returned. Isabela tried not to take it personally, and washed thoroughly while the Sten sat staring into the wall, but after a while rumbled: “Your hair, too.”

She had no idea what was going on, but did as asked. He handed her the towel and later a clean pillow cover to wear. She had been thinking after he left the previous evening, how strange it was that the Qunari never used names. She had been admiring the effectiveness of the men on the ship, but even with a well trained crew such as this, there would be a need to call out individual orders to the sailors. If all the hands shared the same title, how could the Captain or First Mate tell them apart?

“May I ask you something,” she ventured. The Sten nodded as he lead her through the ship towards the sick bay. 

“How can you not have names? It seems highly impractical, especially on a ship.”

“To a bas, it would seem so, yes. There is usually no need for a name under the Qun. But in the Antaam, it is more often so.”

She was dying to ask him, but held back. He must know what she was getting at. Just as they arrived at the door, he looked down at her.

“If it is needed, you can call me Meraad.”

“Meraad?” 

Isabela tasted the name awkwardly. He didn’t seem like a Meraad. “Does it mean something?”

“Tide.” 

He opened the door and ushered her inside to the waiting Healer, who looked sourly at them. Isabela went to him, keeping her eyes respectfully on the floor. 

“Shanedan.” she tried, the greeting still unfamiliar in her mouth. The Healer just huffed and, without any warning, grabbed her hair and pulled her to him. He inspected her locks, and seeing it was indeed freshly washed he went and grabbed a pair of scissors. Isabela eyed them with some trepidation. 

“ _There is nothing you can offer me that would make up for the years wasted in that filthy bas place._ ”

The Healer spoke to her in Qunlat, at least she thought he was talking to her. She followed the scissors with her eyes. 

“ _But, as for now, I could use your hair. I have found that human hair is excellent to suture surgery wounds_.”

“He wants your hair. For stitching wounds.” Meraad translated. 

Isabela didn’t hesitate. She might have a reputation for being vain, at least of a sort. But there were many things she valued more than her looks, and right now her instinct told her not to deny the only doctor on the ship something that would grow out again in time. She immediately spun around to offer the easiest access. The Healer sectioned off her thick hair in small bundles, tied them in ribbons and sheared them off one by one. And, unless he was the most clumsy Healer she had ever met, he made a point of butchering every cut, nicking her skin repeatedly as he cut too close to her scalp. But she made no sound, even when he sliced some of her skin clean off. When he was done, he just took the hair over to a bench, removed the skin still attached, and lay the bundles to soak in a tub filled with a foul-smelling mixture. When he turned, he seemed displeased that they were still there. He addressed Meraad.

“ _Take the thief out of here._ ”

Isabela was pulled out of the sick bay by the arm as a drop of blood travelled down her forehead and into her left eye. She blinked it away as well as she could, but she could tell there were many open wounds on her head. They stung and smarted, sleeping tonight would be difficult. Meraad suddenly stopped, and Isabela nearly walked into him. He lifted the lantern over her and stood still for a moment, considering her head.

“I am supposed to take you to the next soldier.” 

The Sten seemed to hesitate. “I will clean up the wounds first.”

They ended up on deck, where Isabela accidentally groped Meraad when he started washing her head with saltwater. It burned as if he had poured acid over her skin, and she was sitting in front of him on a low stool. His large thighs were on either side of her and, as he wrung the soaked cloth over her head, she instinctively grabbed at him as the shock of the pain took her by surprise. Which turned out to be the inside of his thighs. Oh well, she thought and gritted her teeth. Sailors went to and fro around them, and there were a lot of soldiers loitering out of the way, enjoying the sun and fresh air. She thought she could feel them revel in the sight of her head.

The day continued with her doing some mundane task for several soldiers. They wouldn’t let her handle their weapons, and she got the feeling it was not because they feared her skills with a blade but rather that she wasn’t worthy to touch their blades. Instead, she was set to clean and repair their armour. Isabela tried to tell them that her skills in stitching and leatherwork was less than satisfactory. They did not seem to understand her, or maybe they thought she tried to avoid her atonement. But when one of them came back to check on her progress, he tutted and sat down with her. 

“I told you, I only ever repaired sails and they don’t need this much finesse,” she said with a hint of defiance. 

The Karashok sat down next to her, and in very broken common tongue, showed her how to do it. In the next few hours, he did most of the work on the armour himself, making sure she paid attention. When they were done, Isabela washed the oil, rust and dirt off of her hands and from under her nails. She hesitated before leaving, and spoke slow so he would understand.

“This cannot be my penance to you. You taught me something new, and you had to clean your own armour.”

The Karashok made a gesture, waving it off. Isabela got the feeling he just wanted to be rid of her. 

“Do you have a second set of armour perhaps?”

“No.”

As a Captain, Isabela never had to exert any particular people skills. In a world where men ruled, using diplomacy or tact had never been useful to her. She had to use her skills as a fighter, or as a sailor, her infamy or reputation as a wanton woman to climb the ranks, maneuver her crew, and get what she wanted. It was cynical, but that was the world in which she lived. Until now. And none of those skills translated to situations like this, with the bloody Qunari.

“But, there must be something you want. Or need?”

“No.”

“Nobody wants nothing.”

“Everything is given by the Qun. There is nothing I want.”

She heard the unspoken words ‘from you’. Isabela went over to his side and sat back down.

“Fine. I hope you like my company, because I will be by your side until you give me a task.”

At first, it didn’t seem like he believed her, but Isabela stuck by him the rest of the day, making sure she was in the way as much as possible. He got annoyed within the hour, and by the evening, she could tell he was simmering. He had just climbed into his hammock in the sleeping area for his battalion, and she sat herself just below it. After a short time, he looked down on her. 

“Bas! What it take to make you give me peace?”

“I just need a task. Something you want.”

The Karashok sighed, and Isabela could see the Qunari in the next hammock smirk. 

“I want … I want fresh meat.”

Isabela frowned. 

“For food,” he clarified. She thought about it. It wasn’t an unreasonable request, but on the other hand, they were at sea.

“Will you give me some time to do it?”

“Until we reach Par Vollen.”

“...before Par Vollen. Meat. Sure, I will conjure up something fresh, mate.”

“I am not your mate.” 

She rolled her eyes and left.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

Meraad took her to a Kithshok next. Isabela still felt elevated from her victory with the Karashok, another situation that had earned her a slight amount of respect from the Qunari soldiers. As they entered the Kithshoks cabin, she could immediately tell the Kithshok was unwell. He was lying in his tall bed, breathing slow and looking pale. His lower abdomen was swollen, and a thin sheen of sweat made his skin almost pearlescent. He nodded to Meraad and said a few words in Qunlat. Then he gestured to Isabela to come sit on the bed, by his side. Meraad also came over to the bedside, helping the other Qunari to sit up by letting the Kithshok rest his back against Meraad’s chest.

“As you can see, I am not well. I would ask you…,” he stopped, blinked slowly, and continued. “This is normally a task for a Tamassran. I have held out for so long, I thought I could make it until Par Vollen.”

He grimaced in pain, and Isabela could see all his muscles strain as he fought not to thrash about. Meraad put an arm around the Qunari’s chest, holding him until the discomfort passed. 

“May I explain to her?” Meraad asked the Kithshok, who nodded and closed his eyes.

Meraad looked at Isabela. She could not make a guess at what they wanted from her, but she _could_ tell Meraad took this very seriously.

“I know that despite stealing one of our most holy relics, you know little of our culture. Our history is…bloody. Before the Qun, we were a savage people. No structure, no honour, no order. We were driven by our base needs, and we were almost obliterated by internal strifes between tribes.”

He paused, and seemed to consider Isabela for a moment.

“The Qun gave us purpose. Order in the chaos. But our biology is still there. All of us, we fight our nature every moment, every day. And one of them is our carnal desires. This is why the Tamassrans are such an important part of our society. They heal body and soul, sooth the needs, take us away from the primitive instincts that might drive us to ruin.”

Isabela had heard many men speak about the Tamassrans as glorified whores, but she had no problem assuming it had been wishful thinking from a bunch of horny sailors. She chose to stay quiet and listen, sensing that any vulgar jokes at this point would lose the little respect she had managed to earn from him so far.

“The Qun demands that we keep our emotions in check. We don’t have mates like you have, or families. But some bond with other Qunari for mutual benefits. Tamassrans doesn’t just help any who seek sexual relief, all male Qunari need to go to them unless they have someone who helps them. Our physique is different from humans. Unless we get relief, the seed accumulates and swells our insides.”

“But…” she glanced down at the swollen abdomen of the Sten and knew what Meraad was going to ask of her. “Can’t you guys... help yourselves?”

“Not according to the Qun. There are many reasons but one of them is about the Tamassrans being able to assess the mental and physical state of all the Quanri. But this doesn’t always work in real life. Soldiers, sailors, travelling merchants and agents - they can’t always make their way to the Tamassrans when they need it, and the Triumvirate accepts that.”

Meraad let the Kithshok grasp his hand while a wave of pain rode him, shallow breaths making him wheeze. Isabela had never seen a Qunari show such weakness, he must truly be suffering for this to affect him so.

“But our leaders, they are expected to go fourth as good examples. And this Kithshok has suffered through all the time spent in Kirkwall, but he has gone too far. His seed is putting pressure on his innards. He will not make it to Par Vollen.”

“Won’t he lose respect for seeking relief from a" she almost said human, but changed her mind, “thief?”

“There is no need to squander a good leader for something as simple as this. You have been charged with paying for your transgression, and you can help him.”

“I, umm. So you want me to fuck him?”

“Ah, such eloquence. You probably can’t fit him inside you, even if you wanted. All he needs is relief. Give it to him in other ways. As far as we heard, you have a reputation for being good at this.”

For a moment, Isabela was tempted to say something. But as a Qunari soldier, how could Meraad even begin to comprehend the life Isabela had lead as a human woman. Her "reputation" had saved her life more than once. There had been many times she used her physical charms to win men over, when her knives couldn’t. But she had learned how to get it over with quickly, often without having to even remove her smallclothes. She could do this.

Isabela umtied the sash on her dress and climbed onto the bed. She pulled the sheet covering the Kithshoks groin off, his heavy cock pulsating against his belly. Placing herself between the thighs she looked at Meraad questioningly.

“Are you going to stay?”

“Yes.”

She sat back on her haunches, just taking in the sheer size of him. Beams of morning sunlight bathed his form, making the pearls of sweat glint. In a strange way, he was kind of beautiful, like a wounded animal, looking to her to be released from his suffering. He followed Isabela’s movements as she placed herself closer to him, and she managed to squeeze her knees under his thighs. 

Meraad held out a bottle, pouring a faint smelling oil in her hand. Isabela rubbed it between palms, warming it to body temperature before reaching for the Kithshok. He opened his mouth even before her fingers touched his cock, but as her hands encircled his length, he moaned. It was such an unexpected sound from the huge Qunari, she stopped. He looked at her though thick eyelashes, and she realised it was pleasure, not pain.

Isabela took him back in hand, twisting her hands inwards in opposite directions as she stroked him up and down. He bucked under her touch, and after a few short pulls, he came without warning. Thick ropes of bluish semen pumped from his head and up over his chest and onto Meraad’s arm holding him. She kept going, realizing this barely scratched the surface. He was hard as rock in her grasp, she felt every engorged vein stand out as she passed over them. His breath was laboured, and would hitch every time he came. And he did, over and over. 

She used his cum as lubrication as she kept stroking him, the dress sticking to her back from the effort. The Kithshok’s seed soaked the front of her dress and the bedlinen. The room soon smelled of their combined sweat and semen, and Meraad leaned over to open the porthole and let the fresh air in. The Kithshok kept rutting into her hand, his desperation and pleasure making him grunt and groan, whimper and gasp as she worked him. He would occasionally meet her gaze with a pleading look, and having such a huge man in her hands and at her mercy, turned this strange moment into something more erotic than she espected. She was acutely aware of Meraad watching her too, but somehow his presence just enhanced the thrill.

Eventually, Meraad felt the Kithshok's abdomen, which was substantially flatter.

“Maybe just a few more,” he said.

And Isabela, now feeling her smallclothes damp with sweat and her own slick, was riding on a wave of arousal and felt generous. She leaned over and took the huge tip of the cock into her mouth. It was wide and difficult to fit much further in, but the cry the Kithshok made was worth it. Her tongue only had time to encircle the head a few times before he came, the force of it filling up her mouth in an instance, making her gag. She pulled away but a hand grabbed her head and pushed her further down onto the shaft. She braced herself against his hips and tried to pull herself away, but a heavy force pushed her down.

Adrenaline and fear kicked in, she struggled harder only to be rewarded with another round of semen invading her throat and coming out of her nose, blocking her breathing completely. She heard Meraad talk loudly in Qunlat and some meaty hitting sounds. Suddenly, she was released and she threw herself over the Kithshok’s thigh and rolled onto the floor, gasping for air. On the bed, Meraad was wrestling the Kithshok, trying to give him something from a bottle which he refused to take. 

“Go back to your room. NOW.”

Meraad didn’t have to tell her twice. Isabela hurried out of the cabin and made her way through the deck and to the ladder down to the lower level. She passed several sailors and soldiers, who seemed to give her a lot of attention suddenly. She was used to being mainly ignored, and with the fear still guiding her, she tried to take a longer route to avoid more encounters. 

As she made her way through a narrow passage, a door opened and a Sten walked out of the storage. Isabela didn’t lift her head but hurried past him, thinking she got away until a large hand landed on her shoulder, making her knees tremble. He turned her around, nearly lifting her off her feet by the front of her dress. Sniffing her, he was growling, a low rumble that triggered her most primal instincts. The Sten pushed her against the wall, grabbing her ass with ease and lifting her so he could press his bulge against her sex. When she was thoroughly pinned, the Qunari started to fumble with the fastening of his trousers, his breath heavy and hot against the side of her head. She had her face squished into his shoulder, which is why she hadn’t seen Meraad come up beside the Sten. It was over quickly, the Sten seemed to snap out of it the moment he saw Meraad. He stalked away from them and Meraad took Isabela back to the brig.

She stumbled through the door, not thinking she would ever be this happy to see this room. Meraad stood in the doorway, and she sank down onto the floor.

“What happened?” her voice was small and scratchy, almost unrecognisable.

“He could smell you. The seed and your… arousal. He lost control. As the Kithshok did when you used your mouth. He managed to hold back until that moment. I had to force a sedative in him after you left.”

Isabela wanted to tell Meraad how “terrible” that must have been for them, really; very, very sad and no wonder he was distraught. Her mouth was swollen from the brutal use, she had bruises forming after the Sten’s handling and she was sticky and itchy. Meraad sighed. She suspected he had guessed her thoughts, as she didn’t entirely have control over her expressions at the moment.

“Wait here. I will get some water so you can clean up.” 

He made to leave but Isabela said, a bit too loudly, “Will you lock the door? Please?”

He did so, and returned as promised with water. He left her clean, naked and uncomfortable, only covered by the blanket. It turned into a long day. Isabela didn’t see Meraad until the evening, when he came by with food and water. He ate with her in silence. When they were done, she expected him to leave, but he laid down next to her on the straw, making himself comfortable and closing his eyes. She stared at him for a moment before she realized she didn't have to sleep alone that night, and she felt her body relax. She listened to Meraad’s slow, even breaths and fell asleep.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

Isabela had a strong feeling she was kept out of the way for the next few weeks. Amongst others, she was taken to the Taarbas, who had a never ending supply of equipment he wanted to be counted and catalogued. It was a slow and boring process, but at least she wasn’t attacked and it was easy enough work, if you didn’t mind getting ink stains all over yourself.

Meraad came to fetch her after she had helped some of the sailors repair and sort through ropes below deck. He took her deep into the lowest levels of the ship, and there was something in his body language that unnerved her. He was harder to read than usual, his face blank but his eyes weary. Isabela followed him into the deepest bowels of the ship, below the hold and into the utter darkness in the lowest decks. She fumbled after Meraad in the unfamiliar spaces, only lit by the small halo of light cast by his safety lantern. As they descended another level, she could see several silhouettes standing further into the room they were climbing down into. Under her foot, she felt the curve of the floor and the slime on the timber. The smell of damp, musty decay told Isabela they were in the bilge of the ship - they could get no further down. The Qunari waiting for her were armed. A mix of soldiers from different ranks by the look of it. Her heart sank. She looked up at Meraad but he didn’t pay her any mind and greeted the men. And then he just left her with them. She stared after his form, dissolving into the shadow as the men crowded in on her.

In the next hours, or possibly days, she lost consciousness so often she no longer could tell how long she had been there. First, they strung her up by her hands, so her feet barely touched the floor. She was beaten, clawed, kicked, hit and stabbed. Occasionally, they gave her a weak Elfroot potion so she would be conscious and able to truly feel what the next Qunari wanted to do. The third one pulled out all her nails, making her scream herself hoarse. They grew out after the fourth Elfroot potion. A Karasaad just wanted to beat her with his fists, and he did until she couldn’t see out of her left swollen eye, couldn’t breathe through her broken nose, and had so many broken ribs that even swallowing the blood filling her mouth was agony. 

She cried until there was no more water left in her, she peed herself after a kick to her kidney. Eventually, she woke alone, still hanging. They had taken the lanterns and left her there, in the dark. Isabela wasn’t sure this meant they were finished with her or if they planned on coming back. The pain was excruciating. She normally kept healing potions close by, and in Kirkwall, Anders had been a blessing when they went out on missions. It was a long time since she had been this battered, if she ever had been. Isabela couldn’t decide what part of her felt worse, her broken bones, weeping wounds, or the wrists that currently held most of her weight. It was like a million iced needles pierced her flesh over and over. In the dimness of the foul smelling bilge, she gave in. If it would stop the pain, she was happy to die. 

When Isabela saw a dim light and the shape of a soldier materialize out of the darkness, she started crying again. She babbled incoherently, pleading and begging them to kill her. The Qunari unhooked her arms, picked her up like a little babe and started carrying her through the ship. She fell in and out of consciousness, her head swimming. She was put down on a cold, hard surface and someone was looking at her. Then she was made to drink something, and she fell asleep again.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

INTERLUDE:

Meraad sat down opposite the Arishok, who poured them tea.

“ _How’s your charge. I hear she hasn’t been able to make amends for almost a week._ ”

“ _Some of our men craved blood, there was no persuading them. It was their right, so I could do nothing. I am letting her recover enough to stand on her own legs before I take her to her next atonement._ ”

“ _You haven’t taken her to the Healer?_ ”

“ _He refused to do more than set her broken bones and stitch up the worst wounds. I have only given her enough to start the internal healing._ ”

“ _There is already much the Healer must answer for when we get back to Par Vollen, refusing you certainly won’t help his case. Surely, he must know that?_ ”

“ _I fear his bitterness has turned to venom. He has to be watched, I will put a man on it._ ”

The Arishok nodded and drank deeply from his tea. He stared out the window and unto the uneasy water trailing behind the ship. Without looking at Meraad, he said:

“ _You have chosen not to give the thief any Elfroot. You have the entire storage at your disposal if need be._ ”

It was a statement not a question. Meraad lifted his cup to his lips, but answered before taking a sip.

“ _What purpose would that serve? The men would not see her pitiful state, and more might have wished to choose their payment in blood. She is already on the brink of breaking, and she will be no good to the Qun if she does._ ”

The Arishok seemed genuinely surprised.

“ _You really think you can turn her?_ ”

“ _Oh yes, unless more idiots decide to use their fists on her. She is not just clever you know, but possesses true intelligence. And she is observant, has good instincts, and shows no fear or distaste for hard labour._ ”

“S _he certainly didn’t show any of that when we dragged her on board._ ”

“ _The bas is a fast learner. A survivor. Her skills could be very useful to us._ ”

“ _Her blatant disregard for honour would make her wholly unsuited to be a Viddathari. She will need to be re-educated._ ”

“ _That would be like caging a bird. Taming her would render her but a husk, her freedom and her soul is one. The trick is to lead her to make the decision herself…_ ” 

“ _I see._ ”

They finished their tea in silence, watching the sun set, colouring the sky in vibrant hues.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

When the door opened, Isabela stepped across the high threshold gingerly. The cabin was large, and clearly for officers of the Antaam. It smelled of oranges and something else; flowery and exotic. There were several voices in conversation, and she sensed more than a few people present. She kept her eyes down, heart hammering in her chest. She was scared to look up and see those faces that were burned into her mind. 

A light touch on her arm made her jump, and she shifted crab-like to see who was talking to her. Her body felt like it belonged to an old woman. She couldn’t turn her head but had to shuffle her whole body round. Her backbone and broken ribs were locked in a vice of pain, even breathing was excruciating. Her hands shook, as her muscles were tender and there must be countless tendons and nerves that had been pinched and damaged when she was beaten. Bruises still bloomed on her limbs - in more colours than she had ever seen before. Scabs on wounds and scratches occasionally burst, bled and created new wounds and bigger scabs. Isabela imagined she looked rather pathetic, and knew it must be why Meraad would take her out on deck. He paraded her around every morning after daybreak, so that everyone could enjoy the sight of the punishments on her body. 

There was a large bench along the wall behind the door. It was covered in pelts and cushions, and on it sat the Kithshok she had helped relieve from his rather big, personal problem. He met her eyes. She almost flinched, but he repeated his greeting. She croaked back a response, her voice still broken and rusty from the choking. The Kithshok didn’t seem to mind, but nodded at her and went back to reading his book. Meraad passed Isabela and walked over to two Stens playing a game on a low table. In the opposite corner was a small mountain of cushions, and the Qunari laying on it beckoned her to approach him. 

“Can you read?” 

It was not the question she had expected and she looked up. 

“Not Qunlat, no. There hasn’t been time to learn.”

“But you do read common, no?”

“Yes.”

He held up a book and patted the cushions next to him.

“My friend Saemus gave me this book. I wish you to read it to me, please.”

She shuffled closer, eyeing the cushions. With a body as stiff as a board, this was going to be humiliating. Isabela tried to bend, but her back didn’t let her. Bending her knees, she made to sit down, but that turned out to be impossible too. She let out a groan, and realised she was going to have to tip over and hope she didn’t land on the Qunari. 

Large hands landed on her neck and the backside of her knees, and she looked into the face of the Kitshok who swept her up to lay her gently down next to the Qunari on the cushions. The Kossith bent down and adjusted the cushions behind her head, before he went to get a cup of something from the table next to the bench he had been sitting at. He came back and made her drink the bitter tea, and, within moments, she felt the pain in her limbs subside. 

Isabela started to relax into the pillows, the softness and warmth enveloping her and making her feel an unusual rush of sentimental thankfulness. The strange situation seemed more normal to her by the minute, and she took the book from the Qunari next to her and opened to the title page. She stared. She opened her mouth.

“Kitten, these are ummm…”

“Yes?” all the Qunari looked expectantly at her. The beautiful handmade lettering read “Æsop’s Fables”. She felt obliged to continue her sentence: “...children’s stories.”

She expected the Qunari to be insulted, but the Kossith next to her just nodded encouragingly at her and scooted so close, his chest touched her arm. He was so much taller than her, that he sort of made a crescent with his body and still towered over her. He rested his head in his hand and peered over her head expectantly. Slightly taken aback at his ferocious anticipation, Isabela cleared her throat and turned the page to the first story. It was short, and all the Qunari in the room stopped their quiet conversations and turned to listen. She started reading, a bit faltering at first, but soon, she fell into a rhythm. 

Discussion began as soon as Isabela finished the tale of _The Lion & the Mouse_. The moral of the story, “A kindness is never wasted”, was tested and prodded by all. Quotes from the teachings of the Qun were recited, and when they all had a turn testing the theory of the fable, they looked at her to read them another. Isabela was getting sleepy from their sonorous voices, and finally being able to relax without pains, made it even harder to stay awake. But she turned the page and started the next story, called _The Oak & the Reeds_:

“A Giant Oak stood near a brook in which grew some slender Reeds. When the wind blew, the great Oak stood proudly upright with its hundred arms uplifted to the sky. But the Reeds bowed low in the wind and sang a sad and mournful song.

"You have reason to complain," said the Oak. "The slightest breeze that ruffles the surface of the water makes you bow your heads, while I, the mighty Oak, stand upright and firm before the howling tempest."

"Do not worry about us," replied the Reeds. "The winds do not harm us. We bow before them and so we do not break. You, in all your pride and strength, have so far resisted their blows. But the end is coming."

As the Reeds spoke a great hurricane rushed out of the north. The Oak stood proudly and fought against the storm, while the yielding Reeds bowed low. The wind redoubled in fury, and all at once the great tree fell, torn up by the roots, and lay among the pitying Reeds.

_Better to yield when it is folly to resist, than to resist stubbornly and be destroyed._ ”

This was met with several of the Qunari trying to speak at once. Meraad and the chess playing Stens came over from their table and sat on some of the pillows at the bottom of the pile. Had she not had all this time to get to know the Qunari better, she would not have picked up on the subtle signs that they were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Her eyes were sliding shut, and she struggled to keep them open. But as the discussion went on and on, she drifted off into a deep sleep.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

Isabela woke with a start. The mountain of pillows had nearly swallowed her, and the Sten she had read for and Meraad were lying on each side of her. Their body heat didn't help the matter, and Isabela felt like she was suffocating. Getting out of the heap turned out to be difficult, her body was still stiff, though the tea was still keeping the pain at bay. She scooted down until she got her feet on the floor. Sitting up, it became clear that all the Qunari were still in the room, asleep on the floor or in hammocks. Isabela made her way across the cabin and opened the small porthole window. Her dress stuck to her skin, but the cool night air enveloped her, making her close her eyes and sigh in relief.

It didn't take her long to feel it; something was off. The air _smelled_ wrong, there was hardly any wind and the ship barely moved. For the briefest of moments, she saw a flash on the horizon. Isabela's hair stood on end.

Had this been her ship, every man would have been on deck by now, the crew rushing to take down the sails and secure any cargo before the storm hit them. Instead, there was only foreboding silence. She felt a tingling along her spine and a pressure on her heart. Ice cold fear made her skin prickle, but as always, her emotions translated it to anger and swift action. Isabela turned on her heel and marched over to Meraad, no longer feeling the stiffness in her limbs. Adrenaline thrummed through her, making her blood sing. She shook him none to gently, using her Captain's voice to wake up the Qunari around her. It is remarkable what a commanding voice can do to a group of soldiers.

“Get up! Everyone on their feet, **right now**.”

In moments the Kossith was standing over her, bleary eyed. Meraad seemed to be the most alert, looking at her with a hint of curiosity.

“There is a storm coming. A **big** one,” she said, and without waiting for them, she ran for the door. Behind her, she could hear Meraad give an order in Qunlat and heavy footsteps.

The deck of the ship was devoid of sailors but for the Qunari at the helm. Isabela narrowed her eyes as she headed for him, wondering what the hell he was playing at. Any sailor worth their salt would have sounded the alarm a long time ago. She ran up the stairs two steps at the time, startling the two Qunari on the poop deck. The guard was a Karasaad, and he grabbed for his sword as soon as he saw her. The sailor turned out to be young. Very young. And completely green. What idiot left him at the head in the middle of the night without supervision?

Isabela was at the sailor’s side in a heartbeat and, without further ado, she decked him. He hit the planks with a dull thud, and the Karasaad lifted his arm about to attack but then froze. Behind Isabela, Meraad had appeared like a silent shadow. She was surprised she hadn’t heard him approach, but here he was, and he had clearly given the Karasaad an order. There was no time to ask questions, she opened her mouth and, for the first time in months, it was truly Captain Isabela speaking.

“Take the kid below. This will be a rough ride.” 

Meraad nodded to the Karasaad, who immediately picked up the unconscious Qunari and hurried off. Meraad then reached up and pulled the rope of the bell hanging above the poop deck. It rang out in the quietness of the night, a sound that didn’t feel like it truly conveyed the true danger they were in. The first sailors stumbled up on the deck and Isabela shouted orders at them. It didn’t take them long before they obeyed, the presence of a glaring Meraad behind her gave her words the authority they needed. After the first few hesitant groups came up from below, the real hint of what was to come hit them from starboard and made the limp sails whip and billow. The ship creaked as they picked up speed. The rest of the sailors who entered the deck did not hesitate, and Isabela’s commands were followed.

Suddenly, the Arishok was there, followed by the imposing admiral of the Qunari naval forces, the Kathaban. Their faces turned livid as they saw Isabela by the rudder. She tried to ignore their anger as she forced the ship in the direction that would save the sails from ripping. The wind roared around them, and the waves would soon become a problem. She turned towards the Kathaban.

“Get the Arishok off the deck.” 

The Kathaban sneered at her words, but Isabela was not perturbed.

“You know as well as I that **anyone** on deck that doesn’t know how to take down the sails, needs to secure the cargo or stay below. Just get him and the soldiers out of the way!” 

Isabela locked eyes with the Kathaban, wondering for a brief moment if he had heard her above the deafening gale. The waves were growing even higher, no longer cresting, and the ship’s timber creaking painfully - more of a physical feeling than a sound. Her considerable skills as a sailor and the limited strength in her arms were the only thing keeping the terrifying, boundless power of the sea at bay and keeping them afloat. 

The Katahban seemed to have made up his mind, and hurried down towards the Arishok, bracing himself as the ship tilted dangerously. Meraad followed at their heels. Isabela tried to catch the waves, adjusting the direction every moment as the forces of nature pulled at the sails that were still up, tipping the bulk of the ship. The tendons in her arms screamed as a new wave hit them from the side and she clung on as she heard the reverberating impact. The main top mast came crashing down on the deck, dragging with it two of the half-hoisted sails and several unlucky sailors. Isabela had no time to check, she just hoped the Kathaban and Meraad had managed to get the Arishok out of the way in time.

A towering wall of cold, frothing seawater loomed over the poop deck and smashed down on Isabela. It felt like being hit by wet bricks, with the brunt of it taken by her head. Something punched her side as the water engulfed her, and she clung half-conscious to the rudder. Isabela fell to her knees, slowly losing her grip on the handles. She felt the ship begin to lean downward as the wheel spun under her hands, and fear broke through her slipping consciousness and pulled her back. Isabela slipped and struggled to get back on her feet. From behind her, two large hands appeared and gripped the handle.

Meraad braced himself and turned the handles of the rudder, forcing the ship back to its original course. Isabela let go and dived for a coil of rope that was slithering down between the rails on the deck. Threading it through an iron ring bolted to the poop deck near the rudder pedestal, she tied one end around Meraads waist, and the other around her own. Stepping in front of him, she regained her position and took over the steering, and he lend his considerable strength to her movements. It turned out to be a long night, Isabela tried to shout orders but as nobody had a name and the Qunari were impossible to tell apart in the darkness. She had to hope there were enough people on deck to try to save whatever could be salvaged of the sails and masts.

Isabela couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the gale died down, but the silence made her ears ache. The morning light had begun to penetrate the fog, creating an eerie atmosphere. She didn’t realize she was leaning on Meraad until he stepped back to untie the rope. A sailor climbed the stairs up to them and took over the wheel. Isabela had trouble letting go, her hands were cramped up. After the sailor pried away her fingers, she wandered off on wobbly legs. Slipping on her way down to the main deck, her heels hit every step as she leaned backwards to stop falling face forward. Her body was unresponsive and slow, and she staggered as she regained her balance at the bottom. 

The deck was littered with debris, and she impaled her foot on a long sliver of wood before she had gotten far. Isabela grunted and sat down. She remained sitting, tucking herself away in a corner and unsuccessfully trying to avoid any more splinters. At this point, she didn’t really care anymore. With a detached air she watched as Qunari soldiers swarmed the deck, tidying and sorting through the remains of the wreck. She was forgotten for a long time, nodding off despite her uncomfortable position. 

Isabela woke as the sun was setting, the golden light painting the Kossiths still working. Meraad was kneeling in front of her little spot under the stairs up to the poop deck, calling her name and shaking her gently. 

“I have looked for you everywhere,” he said reproachfully, picking her up gently. Leaning on him with eyes half closed, she was too dazed to see where they were going.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

The second time she woke, Isabela was groggy. She couldn’t remember having a bath but she found herself clean, and lying in a soft bed. Someone was forcing a bottle between her lips, and she felt her various aches, scrapes and pains slowly recede. Still, the weakness and cold stayed, the Elfroot potion not giving that warm fuzzy glow it normally would. Above her, the face of the Healer swam, flanked by the monstrous visage of the Saarebas and his grim handler, the Arvaarad. The Healer was talking to the handler in Qunlat.

“ _The splinter was in her side for a long time, she has bled internally. Elfroot won’t regenerate the bloodloss, she needs a transfusion as well as a regeneration spell._ ”

“ _Why bother? She is just a bas._ ”

“ _The Arishok wants her alive so she can finish her penance._ ”

The Healer sighed, eyeing Isabela with distaste.

“ _The problem is, her body will reject our blood. I need the Saarebas to compensate._ ”

“ _I’m not sure there is a spell for that._ ”

“ _Just tell him to make her body accept the blood then._ ”

The Arvaarad turned to the Saarebas, and his voice faded from Isabela’s hearing as her eyes rolled back into her head and she passed out again.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

The third time she woke, Isabela blinked in the cold light from the large windows in the cabin, taking time to remember who and where she was. The cabin was spacious and unfamiliar, and she turned her head towards the other corner when she heard splashing. 

The Arishok stood stark naked in the small bathtub. He had his back turned towards her, as he washed himself. Isabela had seen many of the Qunari naked by now, they were not a bashful race - she was still shocked. The Arishok was different. She had never seen him without the Vitaar warpaint and full armour, even when she glimpsed him in his cabin, which she must be in now. Isabela half closed her eyes and watched him in silence. As he poured water to wash off the soap suds, she could make out the many scars mapped out on his huge, muscled back. Even though he was a striking figure naked, he seemed so much more vulnerable. She kept looking until he finished his bath, then closed her eyes as he turned around. But not before she saw his swollen abdomen, such a bizarre part of his otherwise impressive silhouette.

Isabela could hear the Arishok using the towel, and the rustling of the clothes as he finished dressing. 

“You can stop pretending now.” His voice was closer than she expected and her eyes flew up in surprise. He was standing a few feet from the bunk, observing her. Without her asking, he added, “Your breathing changed when you woke up.” and walked over to his desk. He was only wearing loose trousers, his feet encased in soft leather boots.

As she lifted herself up from the bed, Isabella felt a wave of fatigue and dizziness. She bowed her head to let it pass. The door opened, and a Karasad came in with a meal. While the food was placed on the desk, Isabela had a clear view of the deck through the open door. Rows and rows of bodies had been laid out. At least two dozen, maybe more. How had so many died below deck? There were terrible injuries, crushed body parts, splintered bones and so much blood. She saw faces she recognized among the fallen. Men she had helped in small ways. The Sten she had read to. And many she hadn’t had the chance to do penance to. Closest to the door, laid the Karashok she had promised fresh meat to. His chest was caved in, possibly smashed by some loose cargo tossed about in the storm.

What a waste of lives. All because a green boy was left at the rudder. She was still staring out at the horror on deck when the Karasad passed her, walked out the door and closed it. Isabela turned slowly.

“Have you had him whipped yet?”

The Arishok looked up. His face showed some surprise.

“Who?”

She ascended on him, fueled by rage at the unnecessary waste of life. 

“The one that put that kid at the helm by himself, obviously?!”

The Arishok frowned. 

“The sailor was following the roster, it was his turn at the helm.”

Isabela’s mouth opened, then shut. The sheer stupidity! Trust the Qunari to follow their “rules” even if it meant endangering the entire ship. Her anger was beyond reason now, so she turned and left. She had no more words for the Arishok, none that could express what she felt. Maybe if she had her knives, she could have conveyed to him some of the boiling heat in her blood.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

**Midway Dictionary/names:**

**The Arishok** : The leader and highest ranking general of the Antaam. The head of state.

**Arvaarad:** "Holds back evil", a warrior rank that holds the leashes of a Mage/Saarebas.

**Bas:** Literally, "thing;" foreign to the Qun; purposeless. Often used as a neutral term to describe non-Qunari people.

**Basalit-an:** A non-Qunari worthy of respect.

**Ben-Hassrath:** "Heart of the many," part of the priesthood who serve as spies, reeducators, and the defenders of Qunari unity. They are the enforcers of the Qun's law.

**Hissrad:** "Keeper of Illusions", spy rank in the Ben-Hassrath.

**Karasaad:** Mid-rank infantry soldier. A melee warrior.

**Karashok:** Infantry private. A melee Qunari warrior.

**Kathaban:** Leader of the Qunari naval forces; the admiral.

**Kossith:** Another name for the Qunari people.

**Meraad:** Tide.

**Parshaara:** "Enough."

**Qun:** The central philosophy of the Qunari peoples.

**Qunari:** People of the Qun. A religious description, not race specific.

**Qunlat:** The Qunari language.

**Saarebas:** "Dangerous thing"- the Qunari word for a Mage, as well as a title.

**Shanedan:** Literally, "I'll hear you." A respectful greeting.

**Sten:** Infantry platoon commander, a vanguard.

**Taamsala:** Amulet.

**Taarbas:** A title/rank of Qunari, clerical in nature; duties include cataloguing inventory.

**Tal-Vashoth:** "True Grey Ones." Former members of the Qunari who have departed or been exiled from their people and home.

**Talan:** Truth.

**Tamassran:** "Those who speak." A priestess who amongst many important tasks are responsible for the mental and sexual well-being of the population.

**Triumvirate:** The governing body of all of Qunari society. They are three individuals that represent a perfect trinity, a whole that the three complete. Arishok the body, Arigena the mind, and Ariqun the soul, are the three pillars of Qunari society.

**Viddathari:** A convert to the Qun.

**Vitaar:** "Poison Armor." A warpaint used by the Qunari that is toxic to other races and has a metal-like quality once applied to the skin.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

The next weeks were miserable for all. They were drifting, the sails only partially functioning. The Healer got most of the wounded back on their feet, but he exhausted the ships stores of Elfroot potions. The single Saarebas on the ship was not allowed to do much, and Isabela was reminded once again the luxuries she had been forced to leave behind in Kirkwall. A twinge of heartache ran through her as she thought of her former friends. The loneliness she had managed to keep at bay as she worked her penance rared it's head, refusing to be ignored any longer. In her anger, the internal dam had cracked, and all the pent up emotions flooded her system. Heartache, sadness and longing. Hunger, despair and loneliness. She had always had a drive to live, to explore, to experience. But she could no longer see a future that held anything but emptiness. It wouldn’t be hard to jump overboard, it was not like Meraad kept a close eye on her any more. She was often left to her own devices, when she offered to help, she was politely refused. 

And there were a lot of repairs needed. Mending the sails, checking the ropes of the rigging, tidying and tossing broken cargo, sorting through debris to find bits still usable. Spare wood was brought up from below, and new beams for the sails were made. The decks were bustling with activity, which was probably a good thing. But the real problem was food and water, and the fact that the Qunari had no idea where they were. There had been two weeks with clouded skies, so they had no way of establishing their position. She saw the Kathaban, the Qunari admiral, in constant talks with the Arishok on the poop deck or in his quarters. Isabela could imagine what they were talking about. How much rations were left unspoiled. How many days left of clean water. How to repair the ship at sea if they couldn't find land. Impossible.

She sat on the beakhead at the front of the ship, with her feet dangling on each side of the bowsprit - as far away from the Arishok as she could get. Her anger had lessened from a roaring firestorm to a simmering volcano. A slight breeze tickled her scalp. All her wounds had completely healed and the scabs had long since fallen off. Meraad had shaved her head for her, at least making the botched haircut even. Now, when she stroked her head, she felt the strange velvet sensation of her new hair growing back. She was cold in her stupid pillow dress, but she refused to give in. 

Around them, the endless horizon was nearly invisible. The sky was a light grey. Reflected on the ocean surface, it made the whole world into a colourless emptyness. She sighed and tucked her hands under her thighs to warm them. That was when she saw it. The tell tale sign that any pirate worth a damn should recognise. She turned to see the reaction of the Arishok and the Kathaban. Nothing happened. There was no shout, no one seemed to notice. She sat quiet for a long time, observing the sailors, hoping someone would take note, so she didn’t have to do anything. But alas. It seemed it was up to her. 

When she climbed the poop deck, the quiet talks stopped. The looks she got were maybe less hostile than they once had been, except for Meraad. He stood behind the Arishok and the Kathaban, with a scribe taking notes. Isabela didn’t bother with niceties now.

“I know where we are.”

They continued to stand in silence, the Kathaban not even looking at her. 

“How?” the Arishok asked. Isabela went over to the railing, pointing out at sea. She heard them move closer. 

“See that? It’s the Ternion.”

In the far distance, a triangle was clearly visible on the ocean surface. It had a completely different texture, and waves would constantly crest at the seams. It was created by three strong currents meeting, and it was always in the same spot. And that meant they were close to the Crescent Islands! Safe harbour. The two Qunaris were looking down on her without apprehension, and she rolled her eyes.

“It means we are close to land! The Crescent Islands - fresh water, fish, game, enough wood to repair the ship?”

They looked at Meraad, as for confirmation. He spoke to them in Qunlat. The talk was going on for some time, before the Arishok led them into his cabin before he addressed her again. 

“Show us.”

He pointed at a huge map rolled out on the dining table. 

“Please,” he added. Isabela nodded.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

The Crescent Islands was still some weeks away, when the Arishok's condition worsened. The Healer made him stay in his cabin, and his absence was felt throughout the ship. Both soldiers and sailors alike grew restless. Many did not trust Isabela, and that they were now sailing blind towards a destination solely based on her word, made them anxious and hostile. 

One evening, Meraad came to her, looking exhausted. He had brought her rations to the brig, having asked her to stay out of view. It had been maddening to be in the little room with little to occupy herself with. He sat down heavily and ate his own portion in silence. She had noticed that everyone got the same amount of food, including the Arishok and even herself. It meant that men three times her size had to live on very little. She leaned over and spooned half of the goop in her bowl over to his, before he could protest. 

“I only sit here anyway, I don’t need so much,” she said, knowing full well he knew that was a lie. 

They were all starving. But he accepted her generosity gratefully, and ate quickly. Expecting him to leave, she handed him her empty bowl to take away, but he placed it in a corner and lay down on her bare floor. Tossing her ragged blanket over his bulk, she got comfortable beside him. Isabela enjoyed sleeping next to Meraad. She normally hated sharing a bed with others, but he lay still as a statue through the nights. And he didn’t snore. And he was warm.

She had fallen asleep fast, but woke during the night. She was thirsty, and it had gotten too hot under the blanket. She sat up, and in the slight light from the lantern hanging outside the room, she saw his eyes glint.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No. I worry.”

“The Arishok?”

“Yes.”

“What happens if he dies?”

He turned to her, and she felt his gaze on her.

“The Kathaban will take command of the ship. He is not very fond of me. Or you. I fear he will turn the ship back towards Par Vollen.”

“But he can’t! We would never make it, we have barely enough rations to make it to the islands! Surely he must know that?”

“Of course, he does. He doesn’t trust you and has tried to convince the Arishok that you are either leading us into a trap or further away from Par Vollen in a hope to escape.”

“...escape? From a ship at sea?”

“Yes, I told him I had my doubts, since you are neither a Mage nor shown any inclination to flying. You might not think it, but our Arishok is a quite liberal leader compared to his predecessors.”

Isabela snorted in disbelief. 

“It is true. And the Kathaban is a traditionalist, he will show no mercy when he takes over the ship. If he makes us turn the ship around, the soldiers will fall in line - they have the discipline and training from childhood. But there might be a mutiny amongst the sailors. They would be slaughtered. And then the rest would starve to death.”

“And the Arishok, he is suffering from the same as that Kithshok I... helped?”

“Yes.”

Meraad had never mentioned or hinted that Isabela could help the Arishok's condition. If he had, she would not have been considering it the way she was now. She had very little interest in experiencing punishment given by “old fashioned” Qunari. Or starving to death. 

“I will go to him.”

Meraad sat up. 

“No. He is worse than Kithshok, he'll not be able to hold back. I would not be able to stop him, he will hurt you.”

She got to her feet.

“That should be my decision.”

“I only have one Elfroot potion left.”

“Do you have something that could make me feel… ready?”

“I think I can get you something, yes.”

Shortly after, they moved through the silent ship. It felt somehow surreal as Isabela let Meraad lead the way up to the main deck, only with a short stop to pick up potions at Meraad’s personal storage. Outside the Arishok’s cabin, Meraad handed her a dried piece of root. He ordered her to eat it, and she made a face at the spicy burn as she chewed. She wondered if he understood what she asked for - just something that would take the edge off her nervousness, and maybe make her care a little less about being hurt. Meraad opened the door and let her step through, before closing the door behind her. Isabela walked further into the cabin. She felt stranger still now. The heat from the root was spreading through her body, tingles racing down her spine and embedding themselves in her core, making her muscles clench in sudden, unexpected want.

The Arishok was not in his bed. Isabela looked around the dim room, and realized she had passed him. He was sitting in the bathtub, as still as if he was dead. He might be asleep, or unconscious. She moved over to the desk, finding a candle and lighting it so she could locate the lanterns in the cabin. As she moved around lighting the wicks inside the ornate glass domes, the Arishok stirred. He didn’t seem to notice her at first, but looked up as she came up to the tin tub. It was almost comical how he had folded his huge body to fit, probably for cooling down his fever. He looked around; realizing they were alone, his eyes flashed in suspicion.

“Why are you here?”

She tried to sit down seductively, meaning to lean on the rim of the tub to give the old bastard a good view of her breasts. However, her coordination was affected by her lightheadedness, and her arm slipped, making her tip clumsily forward - only saved from tilting face-first into his lap because he caught her. As she straightened up, he seemed to grow rigid. She looked up and could see his nostrils flare. 

“You need to get out.”

He rose from the tub like a sea creature, water pouring off him. Isabela was pulled up from her knees, and he pushed her away from him rather severely. “Get out,” he repeated. Isabela swayed on her feet. Finally, a feeling of exhilaration, and a loss of caution was washing over her. She had been worried Meraad had misunderstood her and given her something with little effect. She realized she was staring at the Arishok, who was stepping out of the tub and berating her further. She hadn’t paid attention to what he was saying, but instead enjoyed following the paths of several droplets of water racing down the Arishok's rather magnificent chest.

“What?”

Isabela looked up, and saw the Arishok's angry face. 

“Oh right, I can’t go though. I gotta save us from the Kathabatha... The Kathabalaba… The... other guy. The angry one. Angriererer one.” She giggled. “Really, you need to cheer up. I’m here to fix it! Just sit down.”

The Arishok stomped passed her with a towel around his waist, grabbing her arm and pulling her none-too gently towards the door. He might be strong, but Isabela was fast - even on whatever that root was. She twisted her arm and yanked, stumbling backwards. Then, she ran unsteadily to his bed, throwing herself on it with the grace of a golem. He was right on her heels, having to climb in after her to grab both of her wrists; showing no signs of appreciation whatsoever. Her annoyance almost immediately turned to anger as he manhandled her out of the bed. 

“I am here to help you, you blithering fool! Let me go!” 

“Get out!”

She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist as he carried her towards the door, and ground herself against him. The effect was immediate. He stopped abruptly, his whole body going rigid. And it was not the only thing getting stiff. She grinned in triumph as she kept moving her hips.

The Arishok turned and plunked her roughly on his oversized desk, making several piles of papers and maps slide off. The jarring impact of her ass on the desk made her smile falter and hips still. She stared up into his face, a grimace of fury, his teeth bared. It made her hesitate for a moment, finally registering the grinding of her bones as he squeezed her arms in his giant hands. Through her strange haze of intoxication and, she just realized, arousal, fear started to seep through. Isabela stopped and went limp. He still loomed over her, but her submission seemed to appease him enough for him to gain self control. The Arishok let go of her hands and she rubbed them, feeling the discomfort as blood rushed back into her fingers. He stepped away from the desk, and she tried to hop off to make her retreat.

But in the tumult, the knot of her long sash had come undone, and the looped end was caught on the knob of the desk drawer on the other side. It stopped her reaching the floor, and she quickly turned to her stomach as the edge of the table dug into her lower back. She awkwardly hung there, not quite reaching the floor with her toes, feeling her tunic ride up and gather above her sash. The desk itself was just wide enough that the opposite edge and offending drawer knob was out of her grasp. She wriggled to get herself far enough up on the table, but as she lifted her leg to get her knee over the top, she heard the Arishok growl.

Large hands fell on her hips, ripping her loose bloomers from her body with a brutal yank. She cried in surprise, feeling the remains of the smallclothes slide off her legs. Her knee slipped off the edge, and she kicked out her legs in panic. The Arishok was pressing against her thighs, skin against skin, as he had dropped his towel. She felt him hard against her buttocks. His hands had travelled up to her dress, tearing it all the way from the bottom seam to the neckline. It still hung around her arms, kept on by the sash, her breast having spilled out and resting against the cold lacquered wood.

“I will go! I will go, ok?”

His hands grabbed a buttcheek in each hand, pulling them apart and exposing her completely. She felt chilled air against her sex, shockingly cold. She realized how wet she was, those parts of her completely ruled by the effects of the root. Her body longed for his touch, for his intrusion. But the part of Isabela that was still sober, dreaded what was coming next, knowing full well that she couldn’t stop him now. 

The Arishok didn’t line himself up, he used brute force. Her wetness let his cock slide down and his tip nestled in her opening only for a moment before Isabela felt it throb. Globs of warm, thick seed dripped down her thighs, and she heard him groan. Then he rammed himself into her, making her cry out. His girth was thick, and it stung. Two thrusts and he bottomed out, bruising her and making her whimper. He immediately came again, roaring his pleasure.

There were no breaks; the Arishok's hips slapped against her ass relentlessly, and he came over and over again. Isabela’s legs were sticky with cum, her womb feeling swollen with the amount he shot into her. He occasionally leaned over her as one of his orgasms overtook him, resting his head on the desk next to her face. She watched his expression of euphoria, his mouth open and eyes closed as his breath shuddering in time with his climax.

The Arishok’s claws dug into Isabela’s skin, small droplets of her blood mingled with the pool of seed on the floor beneath his feet. The sensation of him filling her had brought her close to completion several times, but his brutality brought her back from the brink time after time. Now, she was feeling the soreness acutely, the skin of her opening was stretched taut around his cock. The many scratches on her buttocks and hips could no longer be ignored, the stings sharp and unforgiving. The blood trapped in her unsupported legs made them pricke uncomfortably, and the front of her pelvis felt bruised after being constant battered against the edge of the desk.

Isabela didn’t hear the door open, but suddenly a blessedly cold, dry hand cupped her chin and tipped it upwards. She looked up at Meraad, who had a small bottle of Elfroot potion ready. He tipped it into her mouth and she gulped it down, desperate for some relief. Seeing Meraad right there made her fears subside, and her pleasure once again rose as all her discomfort was eased. However, it seemed like Meraad had decided she had done enough. A few words from him made the Arishok slow down, and somewhat unwillingly pulled out of her. She had been so close this time. Damned Meraad.

Meraad pulled her off the table and set her on the floor. When Isabela’s legs buckled, he held her up, so she just got a glimpse of the Arishok before he turned. He stood somewhat tentative, his arms by his side, watching them leave. His member was still at attention, but his stomach was flat and chicheled once again.

Isabela made Meraad put her down once they were back out on the deck. She needed to get the blood flowing back into her legs, so she made her way down to the brig by herself, with Meraad right behind her. When she made to enter it, he put an arm on her shoulder and steered her onwards. He took her to a decent sized cabin at the stern of the ship, with windows indicating they were just below the Captain’s cabin. Meraad filled a small tub with salt water and let her wash up, after she had untied her sash and stripped off the tattered bits of dress still hanging on for dear life. Afterward, he handed her another set of bloomers and tunic. Had he stashed these before they left? 

Isabela was more than happy to climb into the bunk bed when offered. It was so soft and comfortable compared to what she had endured during this hellish trip. She didn’t flinch when Meraad rolled her further into the bed, and lay down next to her. She let herself sink into a blissful haze of tiredness, Meraad seemingly drifting off immediately. But sleep evaded her; the damned root still burned in her veins. She rubbed her thighs together, feeling her slick once again moisten her fresh smallclothes. Annoyed, she tried to turn away from Meraad and discreetly push her hand down the front of her bloomers, to seek some relief. The tips of her fingers touched her nub, and she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning. Trying to be as still as possible, only made her movements frustratingly unsatisfactory, and she squinted her eyes shut while steadying her breath. 

That was why she didn’t notice that Meraad had moved closer to her, and she started as his hand snuck under her arm and pressed itself between her own hand and her sex. There was no time to protest or consider it, the calloused pad of his long finger pushing the hood over her clit away and started to swirl around it with just the right amount of pressure. Her back arched and eyes flew open, staring right into Meraad’s eyes as she grabbed his thick wrist with both her hands - not sure if she wanted to encourage him or push him away. The pleasure built in her fast. She opened her thighs and her mouth at once, gasping as he leaned so close that their lips brushed.

“Let go,” he whispered. He pushed down rhythmically on just the right spot, just on the left of her nub where she was most sensitive. And Isabela fell, the sensation of electric euphoria ricocheting back and forth between her core, her spine and her limbs. Meraad took her through one orgasm and pushed her into another, coaxing it out of her with clever fingers and verbal demands. She hardly had time to come down from the last one before she finally fell asleep.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

When the shout of “Land ho!” rang out, a collective sigh of relief could almost be heard. The entire ship were hungry, thirsty and exhausted by the unrelenting sun, which had replaced the grey fog. The winds had not been cooperative, and even though the Qunari were too disciplined to let it show, there was a strong sense of quiet defeat and more than a little resentment towards Isabela. The belief that she had led the Arishok astray seemed to have spread through the ship, as if dying at sea with a bunch of moody giants was how she planned to go. 

The Crescent Islands lay on the horizon like a startling green emerald, the fresh vegetation vibrant against the blue sky. As they sailed closer, the sounds of seabirds and wild animals carried all they way out to sea. Isabela stood at the bow, enjoying the smells of the jungle as they sailed into the lagoon between the two islands. True to their name, they created a perfect oasis of shallow waters between them. It would keep the ship sheltered from any more storms, and the islands themselves were large enough to yield plenty of timber for repairs. 

Meraad went with the first boat to bank, and Isabela had to watch impatiently as a small group of soldiers set up camp and secured the perimeter before the rest of the Qunari were let ashore. She was on the last boat leaving the ship, but as they were halfway there, she couldn’t wait any longer. Her skin burned from the sun, her lips were parched, her dress soaked with sweat. Isabela made eye contact with the Sten clearly meant to guard her, smirked, and dived overboard. Oh, what a sweet sensation of the water engulfing her! Her lips stung a bit from the salt, but otherwise it was such a glorious relief. She let herself drift weightlessly in the water for a few moments, before returning to the surface.

The sight of the shocked Qunari soldiers, some of which tried to stand in the boat, made Isabela burst out laughing. The fact that they hadn’t jumped in after her told her they most likely didn’t know how to swim. She teased by diving back under, swimming under the boat and popping up on the other side, spraying the Sten with a mouthful of water. She swam towards the shore with easy, long strokes, grinning to herself.

They had been on the islands for a full moon when Isabela started having morning sickness. It hadn’t occurred to her that she could get pregnant by a Qunari, and when it dawned on Meraad, it looked like she wasn’t alone. He took her to the Healer, who seemed just as surprised. Not a good sign, but Isabela was too dazed to take it in. She didn’t want children. She never had, she was not the nurturing type and was never good with responsibility for small squishy things. Isabela could command a big ship of rigid wood and a crew of rough sailors any day, but hand her a sniveling toddler and she would freak out. Staring out at the azure waters of the lagoon through the flaps of the Healers tent, she ignored the Qunari talking. Her hand had gone to her stomach, unconsciously. If she already had morning sickness, Moon Tea would have no effect. The repairs to get the ship seaworthy would go on for many months still, she was stuck here with a bunch of horned titans and a growing belly. Fear gripped her heart at the thought of the alien thing inside her. Then came the shame. Because she didn’t worry for the new life she had made, but for herself, her future, and her freedom. She stood up and walked out, ignoring Meraad’s calls.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

Meraad didn’t look for Isabela until later in the day. He wasn’t too worried about what she was doing, and respected that she needed some time to digest the news. The talk with the Healer had been enlightening, as Qunari could normally only mate with their own kind. But a sloppy command to the Saarebas when the human had been in need of blood was probably the cause. They could not know for sure exactly what she was, but Isabela certainly wasn’t all human anymore. He made his way along the beach, where timber had been laid out to dry. A group of sailors mended yarn under the closest palm trees, and from inside the forest came the sounds of soldiers chopping wood.

Isabela had saved them with these islands. There were several streams with fresh water coming down from the small mountains in the centre of the islands, and plenty of food. Those who didn’t help with the repairs were busy gathering and preserving meat, fish and anything else they could gather. The voyage back to Par Vollen would take them at least two months with fair winds, but if the weather didn’t cooperate it could be more than twice as long. 

The hull of the ship had taken a beating, timber needed to be replaced, all the sails dried and mended, and of course they needed to find a solution to how to recreate the main mast using the narrow trunks of the trees on the islands. They had lost so many to the storm, everything took longer than it should. At least they were out of the blasted city, in a place of true beauty, everyone going to bed with a full stomach and no dangers to worry about. Even if another hurricane would hit them now, both the men and the ship would be safe in the calm waters of the lagoon.

Meraad made his way towards the small waterfall by the side of the larger mountain they called “The Horn”. It was a tranquil place with a cool pool of freshwater, shaded by trees overgrown with vines. He found her floating on the surface, her eyes closed. He watched her in silence, thin rays of sunshine dappled her golden skin and glinting in water droplets nesting in her eyelashes. The swell of her breast peeked up from the water, her nipples dusky and stiff from the chilled pool. She was beautiful, more so after he had rid her of her ostentatious jewelry and vulgar attitude. He had not expected her to give up her hard front so easily, but he admired how she had rolled with the punches, choosing to listen and learn instead of arguing. 

He had long suspected there was more to her than her brashness, arrogance and crude language, and he had been right. Isabela had proven to be clever, humble and even kind. Her actions during the storm had impressed even the Arishok and the Kathaban. Though he didn’t doubt for a minute she would have run away if she found an opportune moment, that kind of honour was not in the nature of one who had only fended for herself all her life. He still hadn’t gotten to the bottom of the theft of the Tome, sensing her anger and resentment every time he had tried to breach the subject. So he bided his time, waiting for her to be ready. She would tell him eventually, he was sure. The temptation to brag about how she avoided every guard, locked door and other security measures to get to the inner sanctum of the Qunari empire would get her in the end. 

Right now, there was another issue to conquer. Isabela was clearly scared by her pregnancy, and rightly so. They had the Healer and the Mage to help, but their expertise certainly wasn’t child-bearing. That part of Qunari society was handled by the women. Qunari were allowed to fuck who and when they wanted, as long as it was consensual, and any women participating was drinking Moon Tea. Breeding was organized by the Tamassrans, who paired the Qunari they thought had traits that would create the strongest, most balanced offspring. It was a sacred duty, and an honour to create new life. Every new Qunari child was precious, even this one - which certainly would be strange. At least they should be back at Par Vollen before her time was due, so long as they could keep her and the baby safe and healthy, it should be fine. 

  
Meraad wondered how the men would take the news. Pregnant women were not something they would see at home. When a female Qunari was with child she moved into a separate part of the city, one that only hosted women and children. It was to keep them safe, to stop the men and women to seek out their children and thus to keep order. It had been a shock for those few of the Qunari that had walked the streets in Kirkwall, to see pregnant women and small children out in the open. Isabela’s state might show before they departed, could they even hide it?

A sniffle interrupted Meraad’s train of thought, and he realised she was crying. He waded slowly out to her, but when she saw him she tried to wipe her face. Meraad had gotten to know her quite well since they had left Kirkwall, and he hadn’t seen her struggle like this to keep up her facade when she wanted to. Uncertain if she would appreciate the gesture, he still stretched out his arms to her. She didn’t hesitate but glided into them, locking her arms around his neck and buried her face against his throat. He put one hand across her shoulder blades, gently so she wouldn’t get the wrong idea. He let her cry until she had no more tears, listening to her unsuccessful attempts at quelling her sobs, uncontrolled breaths finally subsiding and becoming even. Her body still trembling in the emotional aftermath. He led her back out of the water, let her dress and then they walked back to the camp in silence.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

The Qunari realized they would never manage to finish the repairs before the winter storms set in. So the soldiers built more robust quarters out of bamboo and palm trees, a little further into the jungle, close to one of the rivers. And besides repairs, parties of Qunari went exploring, hunting and fishing daily. The Crescent Islands were idyllic, the jungle lush and full of life. Colourful birds, herds of small monkeys, strange insects and many types of rodents made the forest bustle with sounds and activity. 

Isabela soon had many Qunari coming to her for swimming and fishing lessons. Soldiers and sailors alike had watched her build a small canoe out of the reeds from around the river mouths, and some seemed worried she would escape when she used it to reach the middle of the shallows between the two islands. As if she could swim the distance back to Kirkwall. Diving into the aqua blue ocean was like coming home. Isabela felt a childlike elation as she shot through the waters, swimming past schools of colourful fish that made the pastels of the coral reef glitter like a treasure of jewels. She picked oysters and hunted fish with wooden spears. Qunari sailors waited for her at the beach as she came into shore with the canoe full of seafood. Without being asked, they took her provisional baskets woven from palm leaves and carried it to where the cook made the supper for the evening. Some stayed to inspect the canoe, which wasn’t as well made as she would have liked, but she hadn’t had the need to make one for decades. But the Qunari didn't seem bothered that her techniques were rusty, and by the evening the start of several new canoes littered that part of the beach. 

Another moon passed and Isabela's state started showing. It seemed early to her, but she didn’t know much about pregnancies. Her breasts got sore and she felt the heat more keenly. Preferring to stay either in the water or in the shade, she now had a constant escort of Qunari. The giants kept taking things out of her hands, refusing to let her carry anything heavier than a waterskin or a fishing spear. She asked Meraad if the Arishok had ordered them to guard her, and was surprised to hear this was not by order, or organized by him.

“They know you carry a child.”

“Well, of course, it is getting rather obvious. But it is annoying when they fuss so, I am hardly allowed to pass water without being accompanied!”

“Most of these Qunari have never seen a pregnant female.”

“What, never?”

“No, in our society they are kept separate with the children. To avoid distractions and emotional bonds.”

“That doesn’t explain why I appear to have gotten a posse of Qunari nannies.”

“They want to make sure you and the baby are safe. It is a sacred thing, to bring a new life into this world. Your status has changed in their eyes.”

“Fine. Any chance you can tell them to maybe let me relieve myself alone? I need to pee every other minute, and it takes longer when I have an audience.”

“I will tell them.”

“Thank you,” she sighed. “Oh and one more thing. I found this on my bedroll earlier.”

She took out a round, smooth and flat pebble. It was completely white, and had a face of a moon and sun carved together on one side. It was meticulously done, and sanded after. It lay perfectly in her palm, already warm from her touch. Meraad looked at it and smiled.

“It is Taamsala, an amulet for good weather and fortune. One of the sailors probably made it for you. Keep it under your pillow.”

In the coming weeks, she found more gifts. A necklace made from the saltwater pearls they often found in the oysters. A new pillow dress from a soft, light cotton, with a deep red sash with the House of Tides symbol embroidered at each end. One Karasaad showed up one day with that weird herbal paste the Qunari used to paint their geometric patterns with, before they applied the Vitaar. He made her sit naked in the shade by the river, while he applied the strange smelling mix on her skin with impressive skill. He made a large pattern on her back, which continued over her shoulders in a v-shape, over her collarbones and into a sharp point between her breasts. He made circles of the stuff over her areolas and nipples, and bold patterns on her arms. The side of her legs got decorated, from her hips and ending right above her toes. Even her head, which she had kept shaving for the ease of it, got adorned. Isabela had to sit still for hours while the mixture dried on her skin, something made rather uncomfortable by the pressure on her bladder.

When she could finally wash it off, she was relieved. And the next day, the patterned stains went from orange to a beautiful bordeaux.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

Soon, Isabela’s new dress became too tight around her waist. Her breasts were so sensitive she couldn’t stand wearing anything. She was uncomfortable sitting, walking and standing. But Meraad couldn’t fail to notice that despite Isabela’s discomfort, she moved with the grace of a jungle cat. The henna pattern on her body accentuated her curves and made her walk even more hypnotic. And Meraad wasn’t the only one having trouble keeping his eyes off her. The signs of her fertility; her heavy breasts and the swell of her belly, made many of the Qunari have to cool off in the water. Meraad didn’t think anyone would take advantage, as the reverence for the creation of new life stood strong in the Qun. But they had been away from Par Vollen for over a decade, so he took no chances.

At times, Isabela made it clear she was not happy with Meraad’s presence. Her mood changed often and fast. And since the only place her belly didn’t feel cumbersome was in the water, she stayed out in the lagoon, swimming or resting in a canoe most of the days. Meraad was man enough to admit he wasn’t comfortable in a small boat, but Isabela had watched him trying to keep balance in his canoe for less than a minute before she concluded, rightly, that he couldn’t swim. So she spent the next week teaching him. His size did not lend itself easily to the motions of the strokes, but he eventually got the hang of it. She taught him to float on his back, how to kick his legs to dive down to the coral reef, and how to hold his breath to be able to stay down there. Floating underwater was like being in a different world. Meraad wondered if the feeling of weightlessness was akin to what Mages felt in the Fade.

Despite Meraad being trained in the art of perception, Isabela managed to give him the slip one afternoon. The repairs of the ship were nearly complete, and the soldiers and crew mainly hunted for food, gathering fresh water and fruits that could either be stored or preserved for the journey. The beach was bustling with activity as dark clouds were rolling up over the horizon. Another storm was on the way, and all equipment, tools and food got carried into the nearby shelters they had built further into the jungle, by the base of the bigger mountain. And as the wind picked up and everyone hurried to get everything out of the way, Meraad lost sight of Isabela. She had somehow snuck away, with her cumbersome belly, and made her way up the winding path towards the mountain’s peak. When he went looking for her, he just caught a glimpse of her red markings as she disappeared out of sight above them. 

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

Isabela huffed like an old woman as she stepped into the cave. She was tired of being surrounded by people trying to surreptitiously keep an eye on her. It was not like she could escape, though the islands were big enough to hide for a time. She wanted peace and solitude. The body she now shared with another being didn’t feel like hers, and her emotions were in constant turmoil. Keeping a lid on it was draining her of what little energy she had left. 

The cave was really just an indent in the mountain, where huge stone slabs had slid down from the peak and slammed down on the natural rock shelf. As they leaned against the mouth of the cave, they created extra shelter without taking away the spectacular view of the jungle below, the lagoon, and beyond; the eternal horizon. Isabela sat down heavily in the opening. Blue and purple clouds piled up from the southeast and moved fast towards The Crescent Islands. The first flashes of lightning already stabbed the ocean horizon. Moments later, rumbling thunder shook her to the core, and she smiled. She would probably be cold later, but for now, the wind felt like cool silk against her skin.

The big bastard certainly moved silent for his size. Suddenly, Meraad was beside her, with a face matching the current weather. She let him stand there, waiting for her to react to his presence. Isabela ignored him, and soon she could feel his annoyance ebb away. Her last months spent with the Qunari had changed her previous understanding of their apparent detached demeanour. She had recognised body language, differences in attitudes and composure, voices and animation. One needed to pay close attention to pick up on their moods and their personalities, but she had learned that they certainly weren’t as dispassionate and stoic as they seemed at first glance. Despite appearances, Meraad didn't get angry easily. Amongst the Qunari, he stood out as amiable, mellow, clever and (she suspected) with a rude sense of humour. Isabela had never heard him laugh, but there had been times she had forgotten her audience and joked without thinking – and seen a twinkle in his eyes. At least she though so, but he was a hard nut to crack. There was certainly more to him than what met the eye.

“The view is quite nice up here. Not sure if it is worth risking your life for, but nice.”

He leaned back on his hands. The rain was moving across the ocean like a visible curtain, soon the storm would be upon them. The wind whistled through the cave, and below them, the palm trees shook and swayed. Lightning cracked by the lagoon, and suddenly the heavens opened. A few droplets hit the rocks in front of them, but in seconds the sound of the rain was almost deafening. Isabela shivered in delight, being showered in microscopic droplets carried in by the wind. It coated her skin, giving her goosebumps. Meraad scooted closer. Just enough so she could lean into him if she wished to warm herself. Thoughtful. But she couldn't really tell if it was genuine, or an act. Why would he be kind? There was a sense he wanted something from her, and it nagged at her.

From the corner of her eye, she could see him looking at her.

“What?”

“So. Now that we are certain not to be overheard, I have a question for you.”

“Oh?” she said, not sure how to respond.

“Why did you steal the Tome?”

She hadn't expected that. Was that what he had wanted her to tell him all along? Her emotions tipped from anger to fear, to indignation, to defeat, to relief, back to indignation. What did she gain from withholding it now anyway? She had initially kept her mouth shut because they would never believe her anyway, and it annoyed the Arishok that she refused to tell them. A petty pleasure for her, but there hadn't been much else to enjoy since Hawke gave her up. She sighed.

“I didn't.”

He looked at her with genuine surprise on his face.

“I really didn't. You might have thought it was embarrassing that a bas woman got past every guard and locked door in Par Vollen. But it is worse.”

She halted for a moment, fiddling with a smooth pebble. Waiting for him to respond, or ask questions. But his silence dragged on, and she felt compelled to continue.

“Worse for you, anyway. We were at port stocking up provisions and selling some... cargo. As we were getting ready to leave, I saw her. She might have snuck past Qunari’s finest guards, but she couldn't get past me. I had no idea where she came from or why she tried to hide on my ship, but I intended to find out. When we were at sea, and she couldn't get away.”

Meraad still didn't speak. So she continued.

“I had my crew surround her and drag her into my cabin. She was just a slip of a girl. Your Tome was stolen by a child. Oh, she was fierce, spat and hissed like an angry cat. So I stuffed her in a chest and let her cool off.”

Meraad smirked, but still didn't interrupt.

“I know, I have never been the motherly type. Anyway, my First Mate brought me the Tome. The girl had tried to hide it when they came for her. After some ‘gentle’ persuasion, she told me the whole story. Some guy had paid her to steal it. Enough to be worth the trouble, a small fortune for a street urchin like her. So she did, without much trouble, I might add. The theft was discovered after she left the temple, but the buyer was waiting for her with several men with swords. Her only option to escape the manhunt and the thugs was the harbour.”

Another gust of wind made her shudder and move closer to Meraad, who never seemed to feel the cold. She snuck an arm across his chest and let the heat of his skin seep into hers.

“She didn't know what she had stolen. Neither did I, it was just a fancy book with a few gems that might fetch some coin. By the time we saw the Qunari Dreadnoughts, it was too late.”

“You could have stopped and handed her over.”

“Oh come on! You think any of you would have believed that a bas girl the size of your leg could have gotten into your most sacred temple and stolen the Tome undetected? I mean, compared to a ship full of... somewhat more experienced people?”

He inclined his head, conceding.

“So our only other option was to outrun you. Nearly did too. Most of my crew drowned, I lost everything I owned. Saved the girl though, like an idiot. She clung to the Tome like it could keep her from going under. I got us to land, and got rid of the Tome as soon as possible.”

“How?”

“Sold it. You can find a buyer for anything in Kirkwall, if you know where to go. But we didn't get much for it, and you guys didn't leave. I spent most of the money setting the girl up.”

“I thought you didn't hold with helping out others who didn't help themselves?

“I... Yes, but she... She would be able to pay me off one day. Her skills were unreal. Better than I was at her age. She didn't ask for help, I saw it as an investment. Turned out to be a waste of money. She died in less than a year. After surviving the streets of Par Vollen, stealing the Qun's most holy book, and a shipwreck that killed scores of seasoned sailors, the pox took her.”

They sat in silence for a while, as the storm raged around the island. It was getting uncomfortable to sit on the cold stone. Meraad took off his kilt, and draped it around her. He sat back in his smallclothes, and pulled her up on his lap. She might have protested if it was anyone else, but if Meraad had wanted to take advantage, he could have done so numerous times before. So she leaned in feeling as warm and content as she could be with an alien in her belly.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

Meraad was worried. Isabela was growing too fast. The baby was half Qunari, and judging by its size it clearly favoured the father's side. Five moons after she was bred by the Arishok, she collapsed. Carrying her to the Healer, half the camp followed him and congregated outside the infirmary. 

Inside, it became clear that something was very wrong. Isabela was bleeding, her face pale and clammy in a grimace of pain. Her breath came fast and uneven, and she clutched at the slab she was lying on.

“ _The baby is coming._ ” the Healer informed them.

“ _But it is too soon! Is there nothing you can do to delay the delivery?_ ”

Meraad had acquired extensive and diverse knowledge in his profession, but childbirth was not in his repertoire. However, he knew that the Qunari lost fewer mothers and newborns than the other races. 

“No,” replied the Healer, “but the Saarebas can. I have sent for them.”

The next hours were bloody and tense. The Healer had to cut the baby from Isabela's belly, and because she shared her blood with the child, she could not be sedated. They had to strap her to the table. She got a cloth roll in her mouth to bite into, but her screams were still piercing. He leaned over her upper body to keep her still. Meraad kept his face close to Isabela’s, so neither of them could see what was being done to her body. He could feel the powerful wave of magic as the Sarebaas closed up the wound in her abdomen, but the baby had made no sound. Meraad turned his head, and saw the Sarebaas leaned over a small, bloody lump of flesh on the Healers table. In a moment, it started to levitate. A warm magic glow enveloped it, until it resembled a giant egg. The Healer gingerly picked it out of the air, and placed it on soft fabrics in a basket made into a small bed. But the egg slowly floated up, hovering a few inches above the fabrics.

The Healer seemed fazed by the magic. He clearly didn’t know what the Saarebas had just done. But he checked over Isabela, who was breathing steadily now, and gave his recommendation to Meraad. She would need to rest until her strength returned, so the Healer arranged to have her moved to Meraad’s tent. Then, Meraad sought out the Arvaarad, to understand what the Saarebas had done with the child.

“ _He has placed the infant in a sort of… cocoon. It mimics, as far as I understand it, the warmth and protection of a womb. He uses Mana to maintain it, so I need to get permission to requisition extra Lyrium. Oh, and the babe still draws nurture from her mother, so make sure the basalit-an eats well too._ ”

Meraad nodded, and made a mental note to speak with the cook.

“ _So it is a female then? With such a parentage she could go far. If she survives._ ”

The Arvaarad excused himself, and Meraad went out to round up the Qunari who were waiting for news about the child. 

Soon the winter storms would pass and the winds of spring would be fair and strong. He ordered the soldiers to start taking part of the camp down and the sailors to check over the ship one last time. They would finally head home. 

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

INTERLUDE

The day after the sails were set Meraad stood in front of the Arishok's desk, watching him intently. The Arishok seemed to struggle with the new information, and Meraad knew he was reluctant to accept that they had taken the wrong thief. He was the Arishok. **The** Arishok. His word, his honour. He was part of the embodiment and the essence of who the Qunari were. Being wrong in such a matter, when Isabela had already paid for the transgression, was inconceivable. How could they rectify this injustice? If it was true, of course. It would be so much more convenient if it wasn't.

“ _And you believe her?_ ”

“ _Why would she lie now? She has made her sacrifices. We almost broke her._ ”

“ _I very much doubt we got anywhere near breaking her. As for lying, her future would have been as a mere bas in Par Vollen. She might hope to avoid further trouble._ ”

Meraad didn’t reply, letting the word “trouble” hang in the air, festering by itself. To him, there was only one logical solution. 

“ _You can no longer refer to her as a bas. She saved the ship and our entire crew._ ”

The Arishok made a dismissive face.

“ _She saved_ _herself_ _. She is like an adaar, a loose canon._ ”

“ _The basalit-an gave birth to a Qunari child. You can not deny that it is extraordinary. The first mixed race child, and they both survived._ ”

The Arishok grumbled, looking away. Meraad didn’t intend to give up.

“ _I want her as an agent. Let me work on her some more. Please. After the Forum at Par Vollen is over and she is released, what will she do? Beg, steal and kill to get on a ship, to fight as a pirate and become yet another problem to solve? I can offer her better._ ”

“ _Then she will be your responsibility,”_ the Arishok sighed. _“I trust you, Hissrad._ ” 

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

Weeks had passed since they landed in Par Vollen, but Isabela hadn’t seen Meraad since they docked. She had had recovered, though her body felt different. The weight she had gained and injuries she had endured during the pregnancy had taken its toll. Her knives were given back to her, a sign of respect she was told. So she spent most of her time training in the enclosed yard behind the house they had placed her in. She slept, ate, trained, washed, ate, and slept. The house itself was quite beautiful, made of painted yellow stonework, with geometrical borders along the floors. There were no doors closing off the different rooms, only tall arched openings that let the light through the large open windows, so you could see from one side of the house to the other. Every ceiling was draped with colourful fabrics, and her bedchamber was a cool, comfortable room with a pile of pillows for a bed, two low tables for simple comforts like a jug of water, a glass, matches and a small lantern made with coloured glass. 

It had come to a point now where she eyed the facades of the houses surrounding the yard, measuring distances and wondering if she could climb them, and how much of a fight her guards would be. She had considered them and concluded that they were there as a statement, rather than a real threat. Occationally she wondered about her babe. The Arishok carried the glowing cocoon off the ship himself, as the first person to step off the ship, with his generals close behind. Meraad and Isabela came after them in the procession, so she had seen the reverence which with the Arishok had handed over the babe to the Ariqun herself. She had made peace with the Qunari taking her child, reasoning that they were the only ones able to take care of a Qunari hybrid and give her a chance to fit in. Isabela should probably feel worse about giving away her own daughter, but what kind of life would that girl have with a mother like Isabela? No, this was the best choice for the child. So she shook off the nagging sensations of guilt and sadness, and filled her days to keep her mind blissfully blank.

One morning, she woke up to find the house empty of her guards, and she walked through the open, airy rooms when she saw Meraad at the other end. She stopped. He looked just as he always had, wearing his kilt rather then the leather leggings. He only had a long sword at his hip, and a fabric bag hanging from his belt.

“What happens now?”

“You are free to go.”

“Right.”

She considered him for a moment.

“Where am I supposed to go? I have no money.”

“I can give you back the rest of your jewelry. You could sell it? You can definitely sell your knives.”

“That will not give me nearly enough to buy a passage!”

“You are a decent sailor.” This was met with an indignant humpf. 

Isabela was an _excellent_ sailor, and she knew it. But she was a woman. And unless you owned a ship, most seamen were very superstitious about bringing women aboard, particularly as sailors. Which led her back to money. She could buy a fare as a passenger on a ship owned by less superstitious people, but that would mean Orleasian ships, and they always demanded a steep price. 

“...and a clever thief no doubt, if you set your mind to it.” Isabela narrowed her eyes. Meraad continued quite unconcerned; “And not too shabby with those knives, unless you sell them of course. So I doubt there will be a problem.”

When Meraad had told her about the Forum of the Triumvirate, he had given her no indication that a release was on the table. After the birth, she had mainly felt apathetic and exhausted. Meraad had to push her to eat to keep the child healthy, and the thought of it leaching her strength from afar was somehow even more disturbing then having it inside her. After their arrival and her health returning, the training she did had helped her stay comfortably numb. The sudden prospect of being released out into the harsh reality of fending for herself was shockingly daunting. But her old persona came to her rescue, making her straightening her back and putting on her most condescending of smiles. This was how Isabela had always worked. She turned any fears or uncertainties to action. And she never suffered insults. Always offense, never let it get to defense. So she launched herself at him, knives drawn.

The clash of metal as he drew his sword was magnificent. Isabela revelled in the song of the blades, in her speed, in movement sublime. He was strong, and fast for his size. But not fast enough. She laughed and looked up as she dodged a slash of his weapon. To her surprise, he was grinning at her, his face more open than she had ever seen it before. It felt like a mask was dropped, as if she was seeing him for the first time. He took the opportunity of her tiny slip of concentration, and smacked her left blade away from her hand. She tried to grab his horn, but he pulled away and changed course. He charged her, like a bull. She let him.

The collision of their bodies as he slammed her into the wall winded her, but it felt good. It felt like she was alive. Isabela was gratified to see him catching his breath, she had clearly given him a run for his money. His leg came up between hers, making her rest on his thigh. She could feel his hardness press against her hip, and she closed her eyes and showed her throat to him, capitulating. The feel of his wet tongue against her skin made her internal muscles clench, and he made an appreciative noise when he felt her body react. He grabbed her ass and tossed her up, throwing her over his shoulder without caring about her short dress riding all the way up. 

As Meraad walked her quickly towards the bedroom, he slapped her bare cheeks, no doubt leaving giant hand imprints in red. But as he stopped in front of the well of cushions that was Isabela's bed, he seemed to change pace, letting her down gently on the pillows. He sat down next to her, helping her unwind her long sash from around her waist. She wrenched the dress off, but he just sat next to her, the sash still in hand. Meraads eyes travelled over her body, and she felt more naked than she ever had been with him.

“What...? What??”

“I am just admiring. Your skin is so soft. Your thighs…”

Her body was not like it had been. She had regained muscle, and lost fat. But there was a roundness to her now that she couldn’t seem to lose. 

“Yes, yes. I am fat. No need to rub it in.”

He laughed loudly, making her balk. He grabbed her ankle and dragged her bottom closer.

“Oh, I want to rub it in alright!”

She lay with her mouth open, not knowing what to say. He grinned at her blank face, no doubt enjoying her astonished expression. Then he leaned down, opening his mouth, and pressing his entire face into the sensitive insides of her thigh. She gasped. It tickled a bit, but it felt so good. The ridge of his nose pressing into her skin, his mouth sucking her flesh. The wetness of his tongue as he moved towards her center, the hardness of his teeth teasing her with danger.

Her cunt was prickling and throbbing almost uncomfortably, a tensity of electric fire running from her opening, into her womb and up along her spine. His hands dragged up the back of her thighs, and stopping just below her ass. She was already clenching rhythmically, and when his tongue was nearly at her lips, she almost keened and moved her hips to make him reach her clit faster. Meraad sat up and she made a sound of outrage. 

“Now, now.” 

He held up a finger, and she considered biting it.

“Do you trust me?”

She laughed, swatting away his finger and reaching her arms towards his neck. He moved back.

“I am serious. Do you trust me?”

Isabela sat back down, annoyed to the brink of leaving. Then she looked up. His face was open, like before. But serious, and searching hers. He genuinely wanted to know, but she had a question of her own.

“Are you really a Sten?”

“No. But you know that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since the first weeks, I think. I mean, it was pretty obvious. The only men you didn’t give orders to were the Arishok and the Kathaban. And you had access to every door on the ship.”

Meraad smiled.

“Clever girl.”

“What _are_ you then?”

“Take a guess.”

“Not a soldier. Or a sailor, obviously. But you can fight,” she thought out loud. “Too bulky to blend in in Kirkwall, but then again, in Par Vollen you are just one in the crowd. Assassin? But you favour heavier weapons. Makes no sense. Spy? But…”

His face lit up, as if she had solved a puzzle. She cut her sentence short, before putting her rejections into words.

“I am Hissrad, it is a rank in Ben-Hassrath. My branch is not under the Antaam, but the Ariquun, so when my superior and two other priests died in the shipwreck, I was the highest rank of Ben-Hassrath left. Only one left, actually. So I only answered to the highest ranking officers of the Antaam.”

“You are a priest…? A spy priest?”

“Yeah, sort of. Hissrad means ‘Keeper of Illusions’, and our jobs can be many. I can explain more, but maybe later? My cock is throbbing, you smell delicious, and you haven’t answered my question.”

Isabela considered it. She was sure he had never lied to her, though he probably hadn’t had much reason to do so. Would she have let him have her back in a fight? That was the ultimate sign of trust to her. And to her slight surprise, she would.

“Yes, I do.”

“Will you let me _show_ you that you can trust me?”

“Yes.”

Meraad opened the fabric bag hanging on his belt and pulled out a long roll of several slender, white silk ropes. He took her hand and started to tie knots from her wrist up to her elbows, lacing them around her arm between each knot. He was slow, meticulous, checking that each part of the rope wasn’t too tight. The rope itself was smooth, and didn’t pinch her skin. When he was done with the first arm, he moved on to the next. The white rope made a beautiful, stark contrast against her dark bronze skin, and a third rope was used to lace her two arm corsets together. 

After the arms, Meraad put his hand on the back of her head, and lowered her gently back on the pillows. She lifted her arms above her head, resting them in the softness surrounding her, waiting. His face hovered above hers, as he lay leaning on his elbow next to her. 

“That’s it? You’re not going to tie my legs or…?

His free hand trailed across her breast, circling her nipple until it puckered. Isabela lifted her knees a bit, languidly stretching under his touch.

“Oh, I know a thousand ways to tie you up, and in time I’ll show you all of them. But for this first time, it is enough. Are you uncomfortable?”

She made a pleased sound, slightly lifting her chest up from the pillows so her flesh again touched his hand. He moved his hand away from her, making sure she looked him straight in the eye.

“I need to hear it. Are you comfortable? Nothing pinches?”

“No, it feels fine. More than fine, it is… It feels good.”

“If you at any time feel uncomfortable, or just want to stop, you tell me. Use the word Talan. If you say Talan, I will stop immediately. Say the word.”

He was so serious, she almost laughed. He stayed still, watching her intently until she gave in.

“Dear me, fine. Talan. Talan, Talan! Ok? What does it mean?”

“It is a watchword. For safety. It means truth. Say it again.”

“Talan.”

“Good.”

Meraad leaned down and kissed her then. His head was huge, the horns imposing. It was like a solar eclipse. But his face was kind - not threatening, his eyes closed in enjoyment. She closed hers too and let herself get lost in the sensation. He teased her with his tongue, taking her lower lip between his own, sucking it gently. Letting his own tongue run along it, then repeated it with the upper lip, over and over until her mouth was swollen and sensitive. She gasped for air, and he smirked.

“Am I taking your breath away?”

Isabela scoffed, rolling her eyes at his terrible pun, but unable to keep the corners of her mouth from turning up. 

“Ah-ah, be nice.”

He mischievously pinched her nipple, making her hiss and scowl. Then he lowered his head, taking her entire areola and more of her breast into his mouth. Sucking greedily and letting go of it with a wet pop, he gave the other breast the same treatment. Isabela squirmed, occasionally forgetting that her hands were tied, and pulled at her ropes to be able to touch him. 

Sitting up and lifted her ass closer to his crotch, Meraad scooped up some pillows and shoved them under her bottom to raise it up to a preferred level. He kept her legs up against his chest, his large hands firmly grabbing her thighs, sinking slightly into her soft flesh. Isabela could feel his strength, and his restraint. Meraad removed his kilt and, while meeting her eyes again, he slid his cock between her legs. The engorged tip emerged between her thighs, glistening with Isabela’s slick. Her lips parted as she watched his expression when he felt her arousal on his cock. Meraad’s reaction made her want to feel him inside her even more. 

As he started moving his hips, every gliding push made his tip slide over her urethra and clit. She moaned. It felt so good, and the anticipation was making her delightfully tightening of her muscles around her empty cunt. 

“Oh, wow. You… are so wet. Are you always this easy to get going?”

The teasing got to her somehow, despite a lifetime of cultivating a reputation as such. Her face must have told him so, he flashed her a grin and leaned over her. This pushed her legs against her chest, her feet on one side of Meraad’s head and his cock still snugly squeezed between her thighs and mound. She could really feel his size now, his tip all the way up to her stomach, and his girth… was impressive.

“What’s going on in this head of yours,” he murmured. His voice was so low, the vibration was felt in her entire body and once again there was a tightening between her legs. Without really thinking, her mouth opened:

“Why do you want to fuck me?”

It was true, she did wonder that. He must have had some sort of arrangement to avoid getting into the precarious situation the Arishok had been in. He was a spy, a liar by trade. Was he trying to seduce her for his own ends?

“I have wanted you for a long time.”

“Since when?” she asked before she could stop herself, feeling embarrassed by the childishness of the question. But he seemed to take it seriously.

“When you got your hair cut off. You seemed to shed that last part of your arrogance, and you did it without hesitation. Real bravery to be so naked. I knew you had good instincts then, as well as being razor sharp. And, of course, you always had a lovely ass!”

He slapped her ass so hard she made an involuntary noise, and kept up the nice, slow roll of his hips, fucking her thighs and smearing more slick on her belly.

“So...Oh!” he hit her clit just right with his shaft, shoving aside the hood and stimulating the sensitive nub with the protruding veins of his cock. “Were you jealous when the Arishok…” he suddenly leaned even more forward, trapping her completely and placing his lips by her ear.

“Yes. I was in the room the whole time. It was, “ Meraad thrust again, making her moan. “Just so fucking sexy. Seeing his face when he filled you. Your cries… Uh, the slap of his hips against your skin. The sight of your jiggling ass as he took you over, uh... and over. The smell of the semen he kept filling you with, it was leaking all down your legs, to the floor.”

Isabela felt the telltale signs she was close to coming. Meraad’s retelling was making her cunt gush, she was equally frustrated and revelling in his withholding of penetration.

“What did you want to do when you saw us?”

“Join you. I wanted to, hnnh, take that pretty mouth of yours and make you swallow my cock. Let his thrust impale you on my dick. Hearing you choke on my cum. I wanted to silence his grunts with my mouth... suck his tongue and grab his ass so I could make him thrust harder, until you had my entire cock down your throat. Then we would spitroast you until you were filled with our seed, and we were all exhausted by coming… But… uh, OH...”

The seductively obscene scenario he described had tipped her over. A crescendo of tightening muscles made her buck under him, and an overwhelming tide of pleasure made her lift her head and bury it in the nook of his neck, muffling her cries as she came. He laughed, but it became a rough moan as he suddenly spilled between them, coating both their bellies with his semen. They lay there, coming down together. Isabela was becoming aware of how heavy Meraad really was. She looked up, he was huffing and smiling, and finally found the breath to continue:

“....but I didn’t, because. Well. You would have had to invite me to join. And also the Arishok was in a berserker state, he would not have wanted to share.”

“But _you_ would?”

“Only if you wanted. I’m Qunari. Sex doesn’t mean the same to us. Our relationships are built without the sexual factor, and they tend to last a lifetime. So letting more people into our beds isn’t necessarily seen as a big thing.”

Last a lifetime. She held his eyes.

“So… this is just sex…?”

Why did that prospect hurt so much? She hadn’t felt these kind of emotions since Hawke rejected her advances in Kirkwall.

“No, because you are not Qunari. There is more here than sex. Am I wrong?”

He sat up and lowered her legs. She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Meraad was right, but she couldn’t get herself to admit it. He smiled knowingly.

“So I thought. And I feel that too.”

They were both sticky, so he got up and disappeared into the bathroom. A moment after he came back clean, bringing a washbasin and cloth. Cleaning her with the cool water, he was taking every opportunity to stroke her flanks and cupping her breasts. He sighed.

“You are SO soft.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it is true. I have never felt anything so soft, not just your skin, but your flesh.” 

Meraad pulled the bag with ropes closer and grabbed several more.

“I think you are ready to advance?”

Isabela nodded, watching him tie her legs together with the same corset knots he had used on her arms, from knees to ankles. It felt reassuring how he checked every bit of his work to secure her comfort. And it felt... loving? His touch so gentle, despite his power over her. She was already starting to feel the almost painfully prickling of her labia swelling, filling with blood and moistening from a new wave of slick. Lying down along her side, Meraad pulled her to him so they spooned. His arm pushed into the pillows below her ribs and embraced her so her lowest breast was snuggly resting in the nook of his elbow, and his hand could grope her other. 

Meraad’s cock was hard against her buttocks, and he pushed it once again between her tights. She sighed half in delight, half in frustration as his dick slid between her folds and across her clit. Isabela wanted to feel him inside her. She met the rolling of his hips by mimicking his movements in reverse, making him rumble in approval. He dipped down and let his tongue lazily trail from her temple to her mouth. Tipping her head up, she offered him her half open mouth, and he took it greedily. His free arm stroked down her belly, making its way further down. 

Isabela whimpered as the pad of Meraad’s long finger reached her little nub, and she instinctively arched her back. Her ass pushed back as her hips suddenly shifted and her entrance was a perfect angle. Meraad’s cock slid right in at the next thrust, almost to the hilt. They both cried out in surprised pleasure. Oh, but he was so big. The skin around her opening was stretched taught around his girth, she could feel the strain of taking his size. She closed her eyes and moaned. 

.-._.-.-._.-.

Meraad had planned to make Isabela beg him for it, but when she arched her back it made his cock slide straight in, and the sensation of her warm, wet, silken insides made it impossible to pull out. She rolled her hips to meet his. And she took him so well, like she was made for him. He was already close to coming, and he didn’t hold back. Spreading his hand across her lower belly, he pushed her hips back as he gave her three hard thrusts, bottoming out completely and releasing deep in her. She moaned at his roughness, her muscles tightening around him as she came too. His hips only stuttered for a moment before he was back in a rhythm. 

Meraad could hear the sloppy sounds of his own cock forcing out the copious amounts of seed he had deposited in her. The thought of her filled with his semen only made him more aroused. The trust she had shown him by letting him tie her up, the feel of her skin against his, the sensation of her cunt clenching his cock - it all made for a sensual experience unlike any he had felt for a very long time. 

  
.-._.-.-._.-.

Isabela’s senses were overwhelmed. It was like being drunk, she didn’t come down from her highs - instead Meraad kept her close to the brink all the time. He had come in her several times, and his cock had twitched so violently that she had come from it herself. Now, he had moved his free hand down and pinched her clit between his fingers, rubbing them down towards her uthera. The sensation of having to pee suddenly came over her, the tension of a tight string pulling from her bellybutton to her opening. Meraad suddenly shifted to a slower speed, rolling his hips to change the direction of his thrusts. 

It unravelled in a moment, the orgasm was so strong her vision blurred. Her juices squirted between Meraads fingers, and he prolonged the intense sensation by rubbing fast between her urethra and nub. He was grunting in her ear, and when she turned her head she was met with his lust-filled eyes. He showed her his teeth, and in a moment, he had gotten to his feet. She was pulled up by the ropes on her wrists with a yank. Over her head, he hooked the rope over something, probably the big, cast iron chandelier. Pulling her hips back, he thrust into her, bruising her cervix and making her grimace in unexpected pain. 

Something happened then. The shock and the pull on her wrists, his fingers digging bruisingly hard into her flesh. Sudden dread grabbed Isabela’s heart. Her lungs felt like in a vice, as if invisible hands pressed them and made breathing hard. A flash of the excruciating pain she had endured in the dark bilge of the ship made her heave for breath. ‘Stop!’ she thought, panicking. But no words made it out of her mouth. There was not enough air. A dark tint encircled her vision. 

Meraad pulled her chin back, and made to cover her lips with his as he pistoned into her from behind. She met his eyes wildly, her mouth open to catch the breath denied to her. His teeth were still gritted, the wild expression of feral lust made him look almost mad. She moved her lips to the word, what was it? Tari? Talen? Her mind was blank.

In a moment, he changed. The beast disappeared into him as if it had never existed. Without hesitation, he pulled out of her and had her on the pillows, the knots around her arms and legs unraveling at a simple tug. He held her to him, lightly, so not to trap her. She pulled in heaving sobs of breath. Her face was wet with tears, though she couldn’t remember crying.

It took some time for her to get back to normal, Meraad had rolled over on his back and let Isabela rest her head on his chest. She was already dozing off, exhausted after the sex and the emotional havoc. Meraad’s hand stroked the fuzz on her head with a feather light touch, letting the tips of his fingers occasionally venture down her neck and onto her back. She shuddered in ticklish delight, goosebumps spreading across her body. Isabela sighed in contentment. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, sleepily, “I didn’t want to stop our fun.”

“There is nothing to be sorry about. It was my fault, I got carried away. It should have been obvious that hanging you up like that would conjure bad memories. I was supposed to prove to you that you can trust me.”

“The moment you realized it, you stopped.”

Isabela let a finger trace a scar across his chest. She continued, “I saw it in you. That which is dormant in all Qunari, according to you. And you controlled it.”

“I might be getting rusty. Or you just bring out the animal in me. Both are possible. I mean, just look at this…”

He was stroking her buttcheeks, and she turned her head to see him look at her with a slight smile. Isabela tipped her head up to kiss him.

“Would you tie me up again some other time? Please?”

His eyes twinkled.

“I have places to go and people to see, but I might get in a few rope sessions here and there - if you will come with me?”

Isabela was still moving her hand lightly over his chest, then down passed his nipples and over his ribs. She felt him slightly twitch. So he WAS ticklish. She smiled to herself.

“Well, if you promise me ropes, wine, and danger, sweetling, I think I will.”

**_Epilogue_ **

Isabela sniffed her flagon and wrinkled her nose. ‘I mean, come on!’ she thought, discreetly pouring out whatever it was the barkeep had served them. This was Tevinter, weren’t they renowned for their fine wines? This cat’s piss wouldn't have been served even in The Hanged Man. Beside her, Meraad sat in his new clothes, talking to an agent who no doubt would mysteriously disappear in a moment. 

Meraad’s new persona fit him well. It was closer to his real self, and he looked SO good in the clothes she had picked out for him. The baggy cossack trousers she choose mainly because it was easier to get off when they stumbled about trying to find some privacy where they could fuck each others brains out, but also because it made him look like a pirate. A very big, muscular, sexy… She trailed off as she notices something happening at the door. 

The room was crowded, as harbour taphouses usually never stop trading. There must have been several ships worth of sailors crammed in at the moment. But a group of men had just entered the tavern, and they smelled trouble a long way. As they walked in and spread out, people melted away like ice before fire. They had the look of someone searching for someone. Isabela felt the hair stand up on her neck. A young, handsome man at the bar, which she had pegged as a soldier because of his bearing, started backing off towards the backdoor.

Isabela stood up without hesitation and stalked after the Tevinters chasing the young man. Behind her she could hear the unmistakable sound of Meraad’s bulk getting up and following her. She drew her knife and smiled. Life was good.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.

**Dictionary/names:**

**The Arishok** : The leader and highest ranking general of the Antaam. The head of state.

**Arvaarad:** "Holds back evil", a warrior rank that holds the leashes of a Mage/Saarebas.

**Bas:** Literally, "thing;" foreign to the Qun; purposeless. Often used as a neutral term to describe non-Qunari people.

**Basalit-an:** A non-Qunari worthy of respect.

**Ben-Hassrath:** "Heart of the many," part of the priesthood who serve as spies, reeducators, and the defenders of Qunari unity. They are the enforcers of the Qun's law.

**Hissrad:** "Keeper of Illusions", spy rank in the Ben-Hassrath.

**Karasaad:** Mid-rank infantry soldier. A melee warrior.

**Karashok:** Infantry private. A melee Qunari warrior.

**Kathaban:** Leader of the Qunari naval forces; the admiral.

**Kossith:** Another name for the Qunari people.

**Meraad:** Tide.

**Parshaara:** "Enough."

**Qun:** The central philosophy of the Qunari peoples.

**Qunari:** People of the Qun. A religious description, not race specific.

**Qunlat:** The Qunari language.

**Saarebas:** "Dangerous thing"- the Qunari word for a Mage, as well as a title.

**Shanedan:** Literally, "I'll hear you." A respectful greeting.

**Sten:** Infantry platoon commander, a vanguard.

**Taamsala:** Amulet.

**Taarbas:** A title/rank of Qunari, clerical in nature; duties include cataloguing inventory.

**Tal-Vashoth:** "True Grey Ones." Former members of the Qunari who have departed or been exiled from their people and home.

**Talan:** Truth.

**Tamassran:** "Those who speak." A priestess who amongst many important tasks are responsible for the mental and sexual well-being of the population.

**Triumvirate:** The governing body of all of Qunari society. They are three individuals that represent a perfect trinity, a whole that the three complete. Arishok the body, Arigena the mind, and Ariqun the soul, are the three pillars of Qunari society.

**Viddathari:** A convert to the Qun.

**Vitaar:** "Poison Armor." A warpaint used by the Qunari that is toxic to other races and has a metal-like quality once applied to the skin.

.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.-._.-.


End file.
